THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 


THE 


/£** 

CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  SKETCH  BOOK. 


No.  2. 


CONTAINING 


PHILADELPHIA : 

CAREY,  LEA,  AND  BLANCHARD. 

1835. 


ENTERED  according  to  an  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year 
1835,  by  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of 
the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  A.  CHANDLER. 


AND 


NEWSTEAD    ABBEY 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  SKETCH  BOOK. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

CAREY,   LEA   &   BLANCHARD. 
1835. 


ENTERED  according  to  an  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year 
1835,  by  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of 
the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  A.  CHANDLER. 


ABBOTSFORD. 


I  SIT  down  to  perform  my  promise  of  giving 
you  an  account  of  a  visit  made  many  years  since 
to  Abbotsford.  I  hope,  however,  that  you  do 
not  expect  much  from  me,  for  the  travelling 
notes  taken  at  the  time  are  so  scanty  and  vague, 
and  my  memory  so  extremely  fallacious,  that  I 
fear  I  shall  disappoint  you  with  the  meagreness 
and  crudeness  of  my  details. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  29th  August,  1816, 
I  arrived  at  the  ancient  little  border  town  of 
Selkirk,  where  I  put  up  for  the  night.  I  had 
come  down  from  Edinburgh,  partly  to  visit  Mel- 
rose  Abbey  and  its  vicinity,  but  chiefly  to  get  a 
sight  of  the  "  mighty  minstrel  of  the  north."  I 
had  a  letter  of  introduction  to  him  from  Thomas 
Campbell  the  poet,  and  had  reason  to  think,  from 
the  interest  he  had  taken  in  some  of  my  earlier 
scribblings,  that  a  visit  from  me  would  not  be 
deemed  an  intrusion. 

On  the  following  morning,  after  an  early 
1* 


6  ABBOTSFORD. 

breakfast,  1  set  off  in  a  postchaise  for  the  Abbey. 
On  the  way  thither  I  stopped  at  the  gate  of  Ab- 
botsford,  and  sent  the  postillion  to  the  house  with 
the  letter  of  introduction  and  my  card,  on  which 
I  had  written  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  ruins 
of  Melrose  Abbey,  and  wished  to  know  whether 
it  would  be  agreeable  to  Mr.  Scott  (he  had  not 
yet  been  made  a  Baronet)  to  receive  a  visit  from 
me  in  the  course  of  the  morning. 

While  the  postillion  was  on  his  errand,  I  had 
time  to  survey  the  mansion.  It  stood  some  short 
distance  below  the  road,  on  the  side  of  a  hill 
sweeping  down  to  the  Tweed  ;  and  was  as  yet 
but  a  snug  gentleman's  cottage,  with  something 
rural  and  picturesque  in  its  appearance.  The 
whole  front  was  overrun  with  evergreens,  and 
immediately  above  the  portal  was  a  great  pair  of 
elk  horns,  branching  out  from  beneath  the  foli 
age,  and  giving  the  cottage  the  look  of  a  hunting 
lodge.  The  huge  baronial  pile,  to  which  this 
-modest  mansion  in  a  manner  gave  birth,  was  just 
emerging  into  existence :  part  of  the  walls,  sur 
rounded  by  scaffolding,  already  had  risen  to  the 
height  of  the  cottage,  and  the  court  yard  in  front 
was  encumbered  by  masses  of  hewn  stone. 

The  noise  of  the  chaise  had  disturbed  the 
quiet  of  the  establishment.  Out  sallied  the-war- 
der  of  the  castle,  a  black  greyhound,  and,  leaping 
on  one  of  the  blocks  of  stone,  began  a  furious 


ABBOTSFORD.  7 

barking.  His  alarum  brought  out  the  whole  gar 
rison  of  dogs : 

"  Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 
And  curs  of  low  degree  ;" 

all  open  mouthed  and  vociferous. 1  should 

correct  rny  quotation ; — not  a  cur  was  to  be 
seen  on  the  premises :  Scott  was  too  true  a 
sportsman,  and  had  too  high  a  veneration  for 
pure  blood,  to  tolerate  a  mongrel. 

In  a  little  while  the  "  lord  of  the  castle"  him 
self  made  his  appearance.  I  knew  him  at  once 
by  the  descriptions  I  had  read  and  heard,  and 
the  likenesses  that  had  been  published  of  him. 
He  was  tall,  and  of  a  large  and  powerful  frame. 
His  dress  was  simple,  and  almost  rustic.  An 
old  green  shooting  coat,  with  a  dog  whistle  at 
the  button  hole,  brown  linen  pantaloons,  stout 
shoes  that  tied  at  the  ankles,  and  a  white  hat 
that  had  evidently  seen  service.  He  came  limp 
ing  up  the  gravel  walk,  aiding  himself  by  a  stout 
walking  staff,  but  moving  rapidly  and  with  vigour. 
By  his  side  jogged  along  a  large  iron-grey  stag 
hound  of  a  most  grave  demeanour,  who  took  no 
part  in  the  clamour  of  the  canine  rabble,  but 
seemed  to  consider  himself  bound,  for  the  dig 
nity  of  the  house,  to  give  me  a  courteous  recep 
tion. 

Before  Scott  had  reached  the  gate  he  called 
out  in  a  hearty  tone,  welcoming  me  to  Abbotsford, 


8  ABBOTSFORD. 

and  asking  news  of  Campbell.  Arrived  at  the 
door  of  the  chaise,  he  grasped  me  warmly  by 
the  hand:  "Come,  drive  down,  drive  down  to  the 
house,"  said  he,  "ye're  just  in  time  for  breakfast, 
and  afterwards  ye  shall  see  all  the  wonders  of 
the  Abbey." 

I  would  have  excused  myself,  on  the  plea  of 
having  already  made  my  breakfast.  "  Hout 
man,"  cried  he,  "  a  ride  in  the  morning  in  the 
keen  air  of  the  Scotch  hills  is  warrant  enough 
for  a  second  breakfast." 

I  was  accordingly  whirled  to  the  portal  of  the 
cottage,  and  in  a  few  moments  found  myself 
seated  at  the  breakfast  table.  There  was  no 
one  present  but  the  family,  which  consisted  of 
Mrs.  Scott,  her  eldest  daughter  Sophia,  then  a 
fine  girl  about  seventeen,  Miss  Ann  Scott,  two 
or  three  years  younger,  Walter,  a  well  grown 
stripling,  and  Charles  a  lively  boy,  eleven  or 
twelve  years  of  age.  I  soon  felt  myself  quite  at 
home,  and  my  heart  in  a  glow  with  the  cordial 
welcome  I  experienced.  I  had  thought  to  make 
a  mere  morning  visit,  but  found  I  was  not  to  be 
let"  off  so  lightly.  "You  must  not  think  our 
neighbourhood  is  to  be  read  in  a  morning,  like  a 
newspaper,"  said  Scott.  "  It  takes  several  days 
of  study  for  an  observant  traveller  that  has  a 
relish  for  auld  world  trumpery.  After  break 
fast  you  shall  make  your  visit  to  Melrose  Abbey; 


ABBOTSFORD.  9 

I  shall  not  be  able  to  accompany  you,  as  I  have 
some  household  affairs  to  attend  to,  but  I  will 
put  you  in  charge  of  my  son  Charles,  who  is  very 
learned  in  all  things  touching  the  old  ruin  and 
the  neighbourhood  it  stands  in,  and  he  and  my 
friend  Johnny  Bower  will  tell  you  the  whole 
truth  about  it,  with  a  good  deal  more  that  you 
are  not  called  upon  to  believe — unless  you  be  a 
true  and  nothing-doubting  antiquary.  When  you 
come  back,  I'll  take  you  out  on  a  ramble  about 
the  neighbourhood.  To-morrow  we  will  take  a 
look  at  the  Yarrow,  and  the  next  day  we  will 
drive  over  to  Dryburgh  Abbey,  which  is  a  fine 
old  ruin  well  worth  your  seeing" — in  a  word,  be 
fore  Scott  had  got  through  with  his  plan,  I  found 
myself  committed  for  a  visit  of  several  days, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  a  little  realm  of  romance  was 
suddenly  opened  before  me. 


AFTER  breakfast  I  accordingly  set  off  for  the 
Abbey  with  my  little  friend  Charles,  whom  I 
found  a  most  sprightly  and  entertaining  com 
panion.  He  had  an  ample  stock  of  anecdote 
about  the  neighbourhood,  which  he  had  learned 
from  his  father,  and  many  quaint  remarks  and 
sly  jokes,  evidently  derived  from  the  same  source, 
all  which  were  uttered  with  a  Scottish  accent 


10  ABBOTSFORD. 

and  a  mixture  of  Scottish  phraseology,  that  gave 
them  additional  flavour. 

On  our  way  to  the  Abbey  he  gave  me  some 
anecdotes  of  Johnny  Bowei;  to  whom  his  father 
had  alluded ;  he  was  sexton  of  the  parish  and 
custodian  of  the  ruin,  employed  to  keep  it  in 
order  and  show  it  to  strangers  ; — a  worthy 
little  man,  not  without  ambition  in  his  hum 
ble  sphere.  The  death  of  his  predecessor  had 
been  mentioned  in  the  newspapers,  so  that  his 
name  had  appeared  in  print  throughout  the  land. 
When  Johnny  succeeded  to  the  guardianship  of 
the  ruin,  he  stipulated  that,  on  his  death,  his 
name  should  receive  like  honourable  blazon ; 
with  this  addition,  that  it  should  be  from  the 
pen  of  Scott.  The  latter  gravely  pledged  him 
self  to  pay  this  tribute  to  his  memory,  and 
Johnny  now  lived  in  the  proud  anticipation  of  a 
poetic  immortality. 

I  found  Johnny  Bower  a  decent  looking  lit 
tle  old  man,  in  blue  coat  and  red  waistcoat.  He 
received  us  with  much  greeting,  and  seemed  de 
lighted  to  see  my  young  companion,  who  was 
full  of  merriment  and  waggery,  drawing  out  his 
peculiarities  for  my  amusement.  The  old  man 
was  one  of  the  most  authentic  and  particular  of 
cicerones ;  he  pointed  out  every  thing  in  the  Ab 
bey  that  had  been  described  by  Scott  in  his  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel :  and  would  repeat,  with 


ABBOTSFORD.  1 1 

broad  Scottish  accent,  the  passage  which  cele 
brated  it. 

Thus,  in  passing  through  the  cloisters,  he  made 
me  remark  the  beautiful  carvings  of  leaves  and 
flowers  wrought  in  stone  with  the  most  exquisite 
delicacy,  arid,  notwithstanding  the  lapse  of  cen 
turies,  retaining  their  sharpness  as  if  fresh  from 
the  chisel ;  rivalling,  as  Scott  has  said,  the  real 
objects  of  which  they  were  imitations  : 

"Nor  herb  nor  flowret  glistened  there 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister  arches  as  fair." 

He  pointed  out  also  among  the  carved  work 
a  nun's  head  of  much  beauty,  which  he  said  Scott. 
always  stopped  to  admire — "  for  the  shirra'  had 
a  wonderful  eye  for  all  sic  matters." 

I  would  observe,  that  Scott  seemed  to  derive 
more  consequence  in  the  neighbourhood  from 
being  sheriff  of  the  county,  than  from  being 
poet. 

In  the  interior  of  the  Abbey,  Johnny  Bower 
conducted  me  to  the  identical  stone  on  which 
Stout  William  of  Deloraine  and  the  Monk  took 
their  seat  on  that  memorable  night  when  the 
wizard's  book  was  to  be  rescued  from  the  grave. 
Nay,  Johnny  had  even  gone  beyond  Scott  in 
the  minuteness  of  his  antiquarian  research,  for 
he  had  discovered  the  very  tomb  of  the  wizard, 
the  position  of  which  had  been  left  in  doubt  by 
the  poet.  This  he  boasted  to  have  ascertained 


12  ABBOTSFORT). 

by  the  position  of  the  Oriel  window,  and  the  di 
rection  in  which  the  moon  beams  fell  at  night, 
through  the  stained  glass,  casting  the  shadow 
to  the  red  cross  on  the  spot ;  as  had  all  been 
specified  in  the  poem.  "  I  pointed  out  the  whole 
to  the  shirra,"  said  he, "  and  he  could  na'  gain 
say  but  it  was  varra  clear."  1  found  after 
wards,  that  Scott  used  to  amuse  himself  with  the 
simplicity  of  the  old  man,  and  his  zeal  in  veri 
fying  every  passage  of  the  poem,  as  though  it 
had  been  authentic  history,  and  that  he  always 
acquiesced  in  his  deductions.  I  subjoin  the 
description  of  the  wizard's  grave,  which  called 
forth  the  antiquarian  research  of  Johnny  Bower. 

"  Lo  warrior  !  now  the  cross  of  red, 
Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead  ; 
Slow  moved  the  monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 
Which  the  bloody  cross  was  traced  upon  : 
He  pointed  to  a  secret  nook : 
An  iron  bar  the  warrior  took  ; 

And  the  monk  made  a  sign  with  his  withered  hand, 
The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength, 
That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 
I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 
How  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 
Streamed  upward  to  the  chancel  roof, 
And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof! 

And,  issuing  from  the  tomb, 
Showed  the  monk's  cowl  and  visage  pale, 
Danced  on  the  dark  brown  warrior's  mail, 

And  kissed  his  waving  plume. 


ABBOTSFORD.  13 

Before  their  eyes  the  wizard  lay, 

As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 

His  hoary  beard  in  silver  rolled. 

He  seemed  some  seventy  winters  old  ; 

A  palmer's  amice  wrapped  him  round  ; 

With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 

Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea : 
His  left  hand  held  his  book  of  might ; 
A  silver  cross  was  in  his  right : 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee." 

The  fictions  of  Scott  had  become  facts  with 
honest  Johnny  Bower.  From  constantly  living 
among  the  ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey,  and  pointing 
out  the  scenes  of  the  poem,  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel  had,  in  a  manner,  become  interwoven 
with  his  whole  existence,  and  I  doubt  whether 
he  did  not  now  and  then  mix  up  his  own  iden 
tity  with  the  personages  of  some  of  its  cantos. 

He  could  not  bear  that  any  other  production 
of  the  poet  should  be  preferred  to  the  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel.  "  Faith,"  said  he  to  me, 
"it's  just  e'en  as  gude  a  thing  as  Mr.  Scott  has 
written — an  if  he  were  stannin  there  I'd  tell  him 
so — an'  then  he'd  lauf." 

He  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  the  affability 
of  Scott.  "  He'll  corne  here  sometimes,"  said 
he,  "  with  great  folks  in  his  company,  an  the  first 
I  know  of  it  is  his  voice,  calling  out  Johnny  ! — 
Johnny  Bower ! — and  when  I  go  out,  I  am  sure 
to  be  greeted  with  a  joke  or  a  pleasant  word. 
He'll  stand  and  crack  and  lauff  wi'  me,  just  like 
2 


14  ABBOTSFORD. 

an  auld  wife — and  to  think  that  of  a  man  that 
has  such  an  awfu'  knowledge  o'  history  !" 

One  of  the  ingenious  devices  on  which  the 
worthy  little  man  prided  himself,  was  to  place  a 
visitor  opposite  to  the  Abbey,  with  his  back  to 
it,  and  bid  him  bend  down  and  look  at  it  between 
his  legs.  This,  he  said,  gave  an  entire  different 
aspect  to  the  ruin.  Folks  admired  the  plan 
amazingly,  but  as  to  the  "  leddies,"  they  were 
dainty  on  the  matter,  and  contented  themselves 
with  looking  from  under  their  arms. 

As  Johnny  Bower  piqued  himself  upon  show 
ing  every  thing  laid  down  in  the  poem,  there 
was  one  passage  that  perplexed  him  sadly.  It 
was  the  opening  of  one  of  the  cantos  : 

"  If  thou  would'st  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight ; 
For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day, 
Gild  but  to  flout  the  ruins  gray,"  &c. 

In  consequence  of  this  admonition,  many  of 
the  most  devout  pilgrims  to  the  ruin  could  not 
be  contented  with  a  daylight  inspection,  and  in 
sisted  it  could  be  nothing,  unless  seen  by  the 
light  of  the  moon.  Now,  unfortunately,  the  moon 
shines  but  for  a  part  of  the  month  ;  and  what  is 
still  more  unfortunate,  is  very  apt  in  Scotland  to 
be  obscured  by  clouds  and  mists.  Johnny  was 
sorely  puzzled,  therefore,  how  to  accommodate 
his  poetry-struck  visitors  with  this  indispensable 


ABBOTSFORD.  15 

moonshine.  At  length,  in  a  lucky  moment,  he 
devised  a  substitute.  This  was  a  great  double 
tallow  candle  stuck  upon  the  end  of  a  pole,  with 
which  he  would  conduct  his  visitors  about  the 
ruins  on  dark  nights,  so  much  to  their  satisfac 
tion  that,  at  length,  he  began  to  think  it  even 
preferable  to  morn  itself.  "It  does  na  light 
up  a'  the  Abbey  at  aince,  to  be  sure,"  he  would 
say,  "  but  then  you  can  shift  it  about  and  show 
the  auld  ruin  bit  by  bit,  whiles  the  moon  only 
shines  on  one  side." 

Honest  Johnny  Bower  !  so  many  years  have 
elapsed  since  the  time  I  treat  of,  that  it  is  more 
than  probable  his  simple  head  lies  beneath  the 
walls  of  his  favourite  Abbey.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
his  humble  ambition  has  been  gratified,  and  his 
name  recorded  by  the  pen  of  the  man  he  so  loved 
and  honoured. 


AFTER  my  return  from  Melrose  Abbey,  Scott 
proposed  a  ramble  to  show  me  something  of  the 
surrounding  country.  As  we  sallied  forth,  every 
dog  in  the  establishment  turned  out  to  attend  us. 
There  was  the  old  stag  hound  Maida,  that  I 
have  already  mentioned,  a  noble  animal,  and  a 
great  favourite  of  Scott's,  and  Hamlet,  the  black 
greyhound,  a  wild  thoughtless  youngster,  not  yet 
arrived  to  the  years  of  discretion  ;  and  Finette,  a 


16  ABBOTSFORD. 

beautiful  setter,  with  soft  silken  hair,  long  pen 
dant  cars,  and  a  mild  eye,  the  parlour  favourite. 
When  in  front  of  the  house,  we  were  joined  by  a 
superannuated  greyhound,  who  came  from  the 
kitchen  wagging  his  tail,  and  was  cheered  by 
Scott  as  an  old  friend  and  comrade. 

In  our  walks,  Scott  would  frequently  pause  in 
conversation  to  notice  his  dogs  and  speak  to 
them,  as  if  rational  companions ;  and  indeed 
there  appears  to  be  a  vast  deal  of  rationality  in 
these  faithful  attendants  on  man,  derived  from 
their  close  intimacy  writh  him.  Maida  deported 
himself  with  a  gravity  becoming  his  age  and  size, 
and  seemed  to  consider  himself  called  upon  to 
preserve  a  great  degree  of  dignity  and  decorum 
in  our  society.  As  he  jogged  along  a  little  dis 
tance  ahead  of  us,  the  young  dogs  would  gambol 
about  him,  leap  on  his  neck,  worry  at  his  ears, 
and  endeavour  to  teaze  him  into  a  frolic.  The 
old  dog  would  keep  on  for  a  long  time  with  im 
perturbable  solemnity,  now  and  then  seeming  to 
rebuke  the  wantonness  of  his  young  companions. 
At  length  he  would  make  a  sudden  turn,  seize 
one  of  them,  and  tumble  him  in  the  dust ;  then 
giving  a  glance  at  us,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You 
see,  gentlemen,  I  can't  help  giving  way  to  this 
nonsense,"  would  resume  his  gravity  and  jog  on 
as  before. 

Scott  amused  himself  with  these  peculiarities. 


ABBOTSFORD.  17 

"  I  make  no  doubt,"  said  he,  "  when  Maida  is 
alone  with  these  young  dogs,  he  throws  gravity 
aside,  and  plays  the  boy  as  much  as  any  of 
them  ;  but  he  is  ashamed  to  do  so  in  our  compa 
ny,  and  seems  to  say,  '  Ha'  done  with  your  non 
sense,  youngsters  ;  what  will  the  laird  and  that 
other  gentleman  think  of  me  if  I  give  wray  to 
such  foolery  ?' " 

Maida  reminded  him,  he  said,  of  a  scene  on 
board  an  armed  yacht  in  which  he  made  an  ex 
cursion  with  his  friend  Adam  Ferguson.  They 
had  taken  much  notice  of  the  boatswain,  who  was 
a  fine  sturdy  seaman,  and  evidently  felt  flattered 
by  their  attention.  On  one  occasion  the  crew 
were  "piped  to  fun,"  and  the  sailors  were 
dancing  and  cutting  all  kinds  of  capers  to  the 
music  of  the  ship's  band.  The  boatswain  look 
ed  on  with  a  wistful  eye,  as  if  he  would  like  to 
join  in ;  but  a  glance  at  Scott  and  Ferguson 
showed  that  there  was  a  struggle  with  his  digni 
ty,  fearing  to  lessen  himself  in  their  eyes.  At 
length  one  of  his  messmates  came  up,  and  seiz 
ing  him  by  the  arm,  challenged  him  to  a  jig. 
The  boatswain,  continued  Scott,  after  a  little 
hesitation  complied,  made  an  awkward  gambol 
or  two,  like  our  friend  Maida,  but  soon  gave  it 
up.  "  It's  of  no  use,"  said  he,  jerking  up  his 
waistband  and  giving  a  side  glance  at  us,  "  one 
can't  dance  always  nouther." 
2* 


18  ABBOTSFORD. 

Scott  amused  himself  with  the  peculiarities 
of  another  of  his  dogs,  a  little  shamefaced  ter 
rier,  with  large  glassy  eyes,  one  of  the  most 
sensitive  little  bodies  to  insult  and  indignity  in 
the  world.  If  ever  he  whipped  him,  he  said, 
the  little  fellow  would  sneak  off  and  hide  him 
self  from  the  light  of  day,  in  a  lumber  garret, 
from  whence  there  was  no  drawing  him  forth 
but  by  the  sound  of  the  chopping-knife,  as  if 
chopping  up  his  victuals,  when  he  would  steal 
forth  with  humbled  and  downcast  look,  but 
would  skulk  away  again  if  any  one  regarded 
him. 

While  we  were  discussing  the  humours  and 
peculiarities  of  our  canine  companions,  some 
object  provoked  their  spleen,  and  produced  a 
sharp  and  petulant  barking  from  the  smaller  fry, 
but  it  was  some  time  before  Maida  was  suf 
ficiently  aroused  to  ramp  forward  two  or  three 
bounds  and  join  in  the  chorus,  with  a  deep- 
mouthed  bow-wough ! 

It  was  but  a  transient  outbreak,  and  he  re 
turned  instantly,  wagging  his  tail,  and  looking  up 
dubiously  in  his  master's  face  ;  uncertain  wheth 
er  he  would  censure  or  applaud. 

"  Aye  aye,  old  boy  !"  cried  Scott,  "  you  have 
done  wonders.  You  have  shaken  the  Eildon 
hills  with  your  roaring,  you  may  now  lay  by 
your  artillery  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Maida 


ABBOTSFORD.  19 

is  like  the  great  gun  at  Constantinople,"  contin 
ued  he  ;  "  it  takes  so  long  to  get  it  ready,  that 
the  small  guns  can  fire  off  a  dozen  times  first, 
but  when  it  does  go  off  it  plays  the  very  d — 1." 

These  simple  anecdotes  may  serve  to  show 
the  delightful  play  of  Scott's  humours  and  feel 
ings  in  private  life.  His  domestic  animals  were 
his  friends  ;  every  thing  about  him  seemed  to 
rejoice  in  the  light  of  his  countenance  :  the  face 
of  the  humblest  dependant  brightened  at  his 
approach,  as  if  he  anticipated  a  cordial  and 
cheering  word.  I  had  occasion  to  observe  this 
particularly  in  a  visit  which  we  paid  to  a  quar 
ry,  whence  several  men  were  cutting  stone  for 
the  new  edifice  ;  who  all  paused  from  their  la 
bour  to  have  a  pleasant  "  crack  wi'  the  laird." 
One  of  them  was  a  burgess  of  Selkirk,  with 
whom  Scott  had  some  joke  about  the  old  song  : 

"  Up  with  the  Souters  o'  Selkirk, 
And  down  with  the  Earl  of  Home." 

Another  was  precentor  at  the  Kirk,  and,  beside 
leading  the  psalmody  on  Sunday,  taught  the  lads 
and  lasses  of  the  neighbourhood  dancing  on 
week  days,  in  the  winter  time,  when  out-of-door 
labour  was  scarce. 

Among  the  rest  was  a  tall,  straight  old  fellow, 
with  a  healthful  complexion  and  silver  hair,  and 
a  small  round-crowned  white  hat.  He  had  been 
about  to  shoulder  a  hod,  but  paused,  and  stood 


20  ABBOTSFORD. 

looking  at  Scott,  with  a  slight  sparkling  of  his 
blue  eye,  as  if  waiting  his  turn  ;  for  the  old  fel 
low  knew  himself  to  be  a  favourite. 

Scott  accosted  him  in  an  affable  tone,  and 
asked  for  a  pinch  of  snuff.  The  old  man  drew 
forth  a  horn  snuff-box.  "Hoot,  man,"  said  Scott, 
"  not  that  old  mull :  where's  the  bonnie  French 
one  that  I  brought  you  from  Paris  ?"  "  Troth, 
your  honour,"  replied  the  old  fellow,  "sic  a  mull 
as  that  is  nae  for  week  days." 

On  leaving  the  quarry,  Scott  informed  me 
that  when  absent  at  Paris,  he  had  purchased 
several  trifling  articles  as  presents  for  his  de 
pendants,  and  among  others  the  gay  snuff-box 
in  question,  which  was  so  carefully  reserved  for 
Sundays,  by  the  veteran.  "It  was  not  so  much 
the  value  of  the  gifts,"  said  he,  "  that  pleased 
them,  as  the  idea  that  the  laird  should  think  of 
them  when  so  far  away." 

The  old  man  in  question,  I  found,  was  a  great 
favourite  with  Scott.  If  I  recollect  right,  he 
had  been  a  soldier  in  early  life,  and  his  straight 
erect  person,  his  ruddy  yet  rugged  countenance, 
his  gray  hair,  and  an  arch  gleam  in  his  blue  eye, 
reminded  me  of  the  description  of  Edie  Ochil- 
tree.  I  find  that  the  old  fellow  has  since  been 
introduced  by  Wilkie,  in  his  picture  of  the  Scott 
family. 


ABBOTSFORD.  21 

WE  rambled  on   among  scenes  which  had 
been  familiar  in   Scottish  song,   and  rendered 
classic  by  the  pastoral  muse,  long  before  Scott 
had  thrown  the  rich  mantle  of  his  poetry  over 
them.    What  a  thrill  of  pleasure  did  I  feel  when 
first  I  saw  the  broom  covered  tops  of  the  Cow- 
den  Knowes,  peeping  above  the  gray  hills  of  the 
Tweed :  and  what  touching  associations  were 
called  up  by  the  sight  of  Ettrick  Vale,  Galla  Wa 
ter,  and  the  Braes  of  Yarrow !     Every  turn 
brought  to  mind  some  household  air — some  al 
most  forgotten  song  of  the  nursery,  by  which  I 
had  been  lulled  to  sleep  in  my  childhood ;  and 
with  them  the  looks  and  voices  of  those  who 
had  sung  them,  and  who  were  now  no  more. 
It  is  these  melodies,  chanted  in  our  ears  in  the 
days  of  infancy,  and  connected  with  the  memory 
of  those  we  have  loved,  and  who  have  passed 
away,  that  clothe  Scottish  landscape  with  such 
tender  associations.  The  Scottish  songs,  in  gene 
ral,  have   something  intrinsically  melancholy  in 
them  ;  owing,  in  all  probability,  to  the  pastoral 
and  lonely  life  of  those  who  composed  them ; 
who  were  often  mere  shepherds,  tending  their 
flocks  in  the  solitary  glens,  or  folding  them  among 
the   naked  hills.     Many  of  these   rustic  bards 
have   passed  away,  without  leaving  a  name  be 
hind  them ;  nothing  remains  of  them  but  their 
sweet  and  touching  songs,  which  live,  like  echoes, 


22  ABBOTSFORD. 

about  the  places  they  once  inhabited.  Most  of 
these  simple  effusions  of  pastoral  poets  are  link 
ed  with  some  favourite  haunt  of  the  poet ;  and 
in  this  way,  not  a  mountain  or  valley,  a  town  or 
tower,  green  shaw  or  running  stream,  in  Scot 
land,  but  has  some  popular  air  connected  with 
it,  that  makes  its  very  name  a  key  note  to  a 
whole  train  of  delicious  fancies  and  feelings. 

Let  me  step  forward  in  time,  and  mention 
how  sensible  I  was  to  the  power  of  these  simple 
airs,  in  a  visit  which  I  made  to  Ayr,  the  birth 
place  of  Robert  Burns.  I  passed  a  whole  morn 
ing  about  "the  banks  and  braes  of  bonnieDoon," 
with  his  tender  little  love  verses  running  in  my 
head.  I  found  a  poor  Scotch  carpenter  at  work 
among  the  ruins  of  Kirk  Alloway,  which  was 
to  be  converted  into  a  school-house.  Finding 
the  purpose  of  my  visit,  he  left  his  work,  sat 
down  with  me  on  a  grassy  grave,  close  by 
where  Burns'  father  was  buried,  and  talked  of 
the  poet,  whom  he  had  known  personally.  He 
said  his  songs  were  familiar  to  the  poorest  and 
most  illiterate  of  the  country  folk,  "  and  it  seem 
ed  to  him  as  if  the  country  had  grown  more  beau 
tiful,  since  Burns  had  written  his  bonnie  little 
songs  about  it" 

I  found  Scott  was  quite  an  enthusiast  on  the 
subject  of  the  popular  songs  of  his  country,  and 
he  seemed  gratified  to  find  me  so  alive  to  them. 


ABBOTSFORD.  23 

Their  effect  in  calling  up  in  my  mind  the  recol 
lections  of  early  times  and  scenes  in  which  I 
had  first  heard  them,  reminded  him,  he  said,  of 
the  lines  of  his  poor  friend  Leyden,  to  the  Scot 
tish  muse : 

"  In  youth's  first  morn,  alert  and  gay, 
Ere  rolling  years  had  passed  away, 

Remembered  like  a  morning  dream, 
I  heard  the  dulcet  measures  float, 
In  many  a  liquid  winding  note, 
Along  the  bank  of  Teviot's  stream. 

Sweet  sounds  !  that  oft  have  soothed  to  rest 
The  sorrows  of  my  guileless  breast, 

And  charmed  away  mine  infant  tears  ; 
Fond  memory  shall  your  strains  repeat, 
Like  distant  echoes,  doubly  sweet, 

That  on  the  wild  the  traveller  hears.  " 

Scott  went  on  to  expatiate  on  the  popular 
songs  of  Scotland.  "  They  are  a  part  of  our 
national  inheritance,"  said  he,  "  and  something 
that  we  may  truly  call  our  own.  They  have  no 
foreign  taint ;  they  have  the  pure  breath  of  the 
heather  and  the  mountain  breeze.  All  the  ge 
nuine  legitimate  races  that  have  descended  from 
the  ancient  Britons ;  such  as  the  Scotch,  the 
Welsh,  and  the  Irish,  have  national  airs.  The 
English  have  none,  because  they  are  not  natives 
of  the  soil,  or,  at  least,  are  mongrels.  Their 
music  is  all  made  up  of  foreign  scraps,  like  a 
harlequin  jacket,  or  a  piece  of  mosaic.  Even 


24  ABBOTSFOUD. 

in  Scotland,  we  have  comparatively  few  nation 
al  songs  in  the  eastern  part,  where  we  have  had 
most  influx  of  strangers.  A  real  old  Scottish 
song  is  a  cairn  gorm — a  gern  of  our  own  moun 
tains  :  or  rather,  it  is  a  precious  relic  of  old 
times,  that  bears  the  national  character  stamped 
upon  it : — like  a  cameo,  that  shows  what  the  na 
tional  visage  was  in  former  days,  before  the 
breed  was  crossed." 


WHILE  Scott  was  thus  discoursing,  we  were 
passing  up  a  narrow  glen,  with  the  dogs  beating 
about,  to  right  and  left,  when  suddenly  a  black 
cock  burst  upon  the  wing. 

"  Aha  !"  cried  Scott,  "  there  will  be  a  good 
shot  for  master  Walter ;  we  must  send  him  this 
way  with  his  gun,  when  we  go  home.  Walter's 
the  family  sportsman  now,  and  keeps  us  in  game. 
I  have  pretty  nigh  resigned  my  gun  to  him  ;  for 
I  find  I  cannot  trudge  about  as  briskly  as  for 
merly." 

Our  ramble  took  us  on  the  hills  commanding 

O 

an  extensive  prospect.  "  Now,"  said  Scott, 
"  I  have  brought  you,  like  the  pilgrim  in  the  Pil 
grim's  Progress,  to  the  top  of  the  Delectable 
Mountains,  that  I  may  show  you  all  the  goodly 
regions  hereabouts.  Yonder  is  Lammermuir, 


ABBOTSFORD.  25 

and  Smalholme  ;  and  there  you  have  Galla- 
shiels,  and  Torwoodlie,  and  Gallawater:  and 
in  that  direction  you  see  Teviotdale,  and  the 
Braes  of  Yarrow  ;  and  Ettrick  stream,  winding 
along,  like  a  silver  thread,  to  throw  itself  into 
the  Tweed." 

He  went  on  thus  to  call  over  names  celebra 
ted  in  Scottish  song,  and  most  of  which  had 
recently  received  a  romantic  interest  from  his 
own  pen.  In  fact,  I  saw  a  great  part  of  the 
border  country  spread  out  before  me,  and  could 
trace  the  scenes  of  those  poems  and  romances 
which  had,  in  a  manner,  bewitched  the  world. 
I  gazed  about  me  for  a  time  with  mute  surprise, 
I  may  almost  say  with  disappointment.  I  be 
held  a  mere  succession  of  gray  waving  hills? 
line  beyond  line,  as  far  as  my  eye  could  reach  ; 
monotonous  in  their  aspect,  and  so  destitute  of 
trees,  that  one  could  almost  see  a  stout  fly  walk 
ing  along  their  profile :  and  the  far  famed  Tweed 
appeared  a  naked  stream,  flowing  between  bare 
hills,  without  a  tree  or  a  thicket  on  its  banks  ; 
and  yet,  such  had  been  the  magic  web  of  poetry 
and  romance  thrown  over  the  whole,  that  it  had 
a  greater  charm  for  me  than  the  richest  scenery 
I  beheld  in  England. 

I    could   not  help  giving   utterance    to   my 
thoughts.  Scott  hummed  for  a  moment  to  himself, 
arid  looked  grave  :  he  had  no  idea  of  having  his 
3 


28  ABBOTSFOllD. 

muse  complimented  at  the  expense  of  his  native 
hills.  "  It  may  be  partiality,"  said  he,  at  length  ; 
"  but  to  my  eye,  these  gray  hills  and  all  this  wild 
border  country  have  beauties  peculiar  to  them 
selves.  I  like  the  very  nakedness  of  the  land; 
it  has  something  bold,  and  stern,  and  solitary 
about  it.  When  I  have  been  for  some  time  in 
the  rich  scenery  about  Edinburgh,  which  is  like 
ornamented  garden  land,  I  begin  to  wish  myself 
back  again  among  my  own  honest  gray  hills ; 
and  if  I  did  not  see  the  heather  at  least  once  a 
year,  I  think  I  should  die !" 

The  last  words  were  said  with  an  honest 
warmth,  accompanied  with  a  thump  on  the 
ground  with  his  staff,  by  way  of  emphasis,  that 
showed  his  heart  was  in  his  speech.  He  vindi 
cated  the  Tweed,  too,  as  a  beautiful  stream  in 
itself,  and  observed  that  he  did  not  dislike  it  for 
being  bare  of  trees,  probably  from  having  been 
much  of  an  angler  in  his  time,  and  an  angler 
does  not  like  to  have  a  stream  overhung  by 
trees,  which  embarrass  him  in  the  exercise  of  his 
rod  and  line. 

I  took  occasion  to  plead,  in  like  manner,  the 
associations  of  early  life,  for  my  disappoint 
ment,  in  respect  to  the  surrounding  scenery.  I 
had  been  so  accustomed  to  hills  crowned  with 
forests,  and  streams  breaking  their  way  through 
a  wilderness  of  trees,  that  all  my  ideas  of  roman 
tic  landscape  were  apt  to  be  well  wooded. 


ABBOTSFORD.  27 

"  Aye,  and  that's  the  great  charm  of  your 
country,"  cried  Scott.  "You  love  the  forest  as 
I  do  the  heather — but  I  would  not  have  you 
think  I  do  not  feel  the  glory  of  a  great  woodland 
prospect.  There  is  nothing  I  should  like  more 
than  to  be  in  the  midst  of  one  of  your  grand, 
wild,  original  forests  ;  with  the  idea  of  hundreds 
of  miles  of  untrodden  forest  around  me.  I  once 
saw,  at  Leith,  an  immense  stick  of  timber,  just 
landed  from  America.  It  must  have  been  an 
enormous  tree  when  it  stood  on  its  native  soil, 
at  its  full  height,  and  with  all  its  branches.  I 
gazed  at  it  with  admiration  ;  it  seemed  like  one 
of  the  gigantic  obelisks  which  are  now  and  then 
brought  from  Egypt,  to  shame  the  pigmy  monu 
ments  of  Europe  ;  and,  in  fact,  these  vast  abo 
riginal  trees,  that  have  sheltered  the  Indians 
before  the  intrusion  of  the  white  men,  are  the 
monuments  and  antiquities  of  your  country." 

The  conversation  here  turned  upon  Camp 
bell's  poem  of  Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  as  illus 
trative  of  the  poetic  materials  furnished  by 
American  scenery.  Scott  spoke  of  it  in  that 
liberal  style  in  which  I  always  found  him  to 
speak  of  the  writings  of  his  cotemporaries.  He 
cited  several  passages  of  it  with  great  delight. 
"  What  a  pity  it  is,"  said  he,  "  that  Campbell 
does  not  write  more  and  oftener,  and  give  full 
sweep  to  his  genius.  He  has  wings  that  would 


28  ABBOTSFORD. 

bear  him  to  the  skies ;  and  he  does  now  and  then 
spread  them  grandly,  but  folds  them  up  again 
and  resumes  his  perch,  as  if  he  was  afraid  to 
launch  away.  He  don't  know  or  won't  trust  his 
own  strength.  Even  when  he  has  done  a  thing 
well,  he  has  often  misgivings  about  it.  He  left 
out  several  fine  passages  of  his  Lochiel,  but  I  got 
him  to  restore  some  of  them."  Here  Scott  re 
peated  several  passages  in  a  magnificent  style. 
"  What  a  grand  idea  is  that,"  said  he,  "  about 
prophetic  boding,  or,  in  common  parlance,  se 
cond  sight — 

'  Coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before.' 

It  is  a  noble  thought,  and  nobly  expressed.  And 
there's  that  glorious  little  poem,  too,  of  Hohen- 
linden ;  after  he  had  written  it,  he  did  not  seern 
to  think  much  of  it,  but  considered  some  of  it 
'  d — d  drum  and  trumpet  lines.'  I  got  him  to 
recite  it  to  me,  and  I  believe  that  the  delight  I 
felt  and  expressed  had  an  effect  in  inducing  him 
to  print  it.  The  fact  is,"  added  he,  "  Camp 
bell  is,  in  a  manner,  a  bugbear  to  himself.  The 
brightness  of  his  early  success  is  a  detriment  to 
all  his  further  efforts.  He  is  afraid  of  the  sha 
dow  that  his  own  fame  casts  before  him" 

While  we  were  thus  chatting,  we  heard  the 
report  of  a  gun  among  the  hills.  "  That's  Wal 
ter,  I  think,"  said  Scott,  "he  has  finished  his 


ABBOTSFOED.  29 

morning's  studies,  and  is  out  with  his  gun.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  he  had  met  with 
the  black  cock ;  if  so,  we  shall  have  an  addi 
tion  to  our  larder,  for  Walter  is  a  pretty  sure 
shot." 

I  inquired  into  the  nature  of  Walter's  studies. 
"  Faith,"  said  Scott,  "  I  can't  say  much  on  that 
head.  I  am  not  over  bent  upon  making  prodi 
gies  of  any  of  my  children.  As  to  Walter,  I 
taught  him,  while  a  boy,  to  ride,  and  shoot,  and 
speak  the  truth  ;  as  to  the  other  parts  of  his 
education,  I  leave  them  to  a  very  worthy  young 
man.  the  son  of  one  of  our  clergymen,  who  in 
structs  all  my  children." 

I  afterwards  became  acquainted  with  the 
young  man  in  question,  who  acted  as  private 
tutor  in  the  family,  and  whom  I  found  possessed 
of  much  intelligence  and  modest  worth.  I 
believe  he  often  acted  as  Scott's  amanuensis, 
when  composing  his  novels.  With  him  the 
young  people  were  occupied,  in  general,  during 
the  early  part  of  the  day,  after  which  they  took 
all  kinds  of  healthful  recreations  in  the  open  air ; 
for  Scott  was  as  solicitous  to  strengthen  their 
bodies  as  their  minds. 

We  had  not  walked  much  further  before  we 

saw  the  two  Miss  Scotts  advancing  along  the 

hill    side    to  meet  us.     The   morning's   studies 

being  over,  they  had  set  off  to  take  a  ramble  on 

3* 


30  ABBOTSFORD. 

the  hills,  and  gather  heather  blossoms  with 
which  to  decorate  their  hair  for  dinner.  As  they 
came  bounding  lightly  like  young  fawns,  and 
their  dresses  fluttering  in  the  pure  summer 
breeze,  I  was  reminded  of  Scott's  own  descrip 
tion  of  his  children  in  his  introduction  to  one  of 
the  cantos  of  Marmion — 

"  My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child, 
Their  summer  gambols  tell  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask  will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gay, 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray  ? 

Yes,  prattlers,  yes,  the  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower ; 
Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie  ; 
The  lambs  upon  the  lea  shall  bound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round, 
And  while  you  frolic  light  as  they, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day." 

As  they  approached,  the  dogs  all  sprang  forward 
and  gambolled  around  them.  They  played  with 
them,  for  a  time,  and  then  joined  us  with  coun 
tenances  full  of  health  and  glee.  Sophia,  the 
eldest,  was  the  most  lively  and  joyous,  hav 
ing  much  of  her  father's  varied  spirit  in  conver 
sation,  and  seeming  to  catch  excitement  from  his 
words  and  looks.  Ann  was  of  quieter  mood, 


ABBOTSFORD.  31 

rather  silent,  owing,  in  some  measure,  no  doubt, 
to  her  being  some  years  younger. 


AT  dinner  Scott  had  laid  by  his  half  rustic 
dress,  and  appeared  clad  in  black.  The  g'rls, 
too,  in  completing  their  toilet,  had  twisted  in 
their  hair  the  sprigs  of  purple  heather  which 
they  had  gathered  on  the  hill  side,  and  looked  all 
fresh  and  blooming  from  their  breezy  walk. 

There  was  no  guest  at  dinner  but  myself. 
Around  the  table  were  two  or  three  dogs  in 
attendance.  Maida,  the  old  stag  hound,  took 
his  seat  at  Scott's  elbow,  looking  up  wistfully  in 
his  master's  eye,  while  Finette,  the  pet  spaniel, 
placed  herself  near  Mrs.  Scott,  by  whom,  I 
soon  perceived,  she  was  completely  spoiled. 

The  conversation  happening  to  turn  on  the 
merits  of  his  dogs,  Scott  spoke  with  great  feel 
ing  and  affection  of  his  favourite,  Camp,  who 
is  depicted  by  his  side  in  the  earlier  engra 
vings  of  him.  He  talked  of  him  as  of  a  real 
friend  whom  he  had  lost,  and  Sophia  Scott, 
looking  up  archly  in  his  face,  observed  that 
Papa  shed  a  few  tears  when  poor  Camp  died. 
I  may  here  mention  another  testimonial  of 
Scott's  fondness  for  his  dogs,  and  his  humorous 
mode  of  showing  it,  which  I  subsequently  met 


32  ABBOTSI'ORD. 

with.  Rambling  with  him  one  morning  about  the 
grounds  adjacent  to  the  house,  I  observed  a  small 
antique  monument,  on  which  was  inscribed,  in 
Gothic  characters — 

"  Cy  git  le  preux  Percy." 
(Here  lies  the  brave  Percy.) 

1  paused,  supposing  it  to  be  the  tomb  of  some 
stark  warrior  of  the  olden  time,  but  Scott  drew 
me  on,  "Pooh !"  cried  he,  "  it's  nothing  but  one 
of  the  monuments  of  my  nonsense,  of  which 
you'll  find  enough  hereabouts."  I  learnt  after 
wards  that  it  was  the  grave  of  a  favourite  grey 
hound. 

Among  the  other  important  and  privileged 
members  of  the  household  who  figured  in  atten 
dance  at  the  dinner,  was  a  large  gray  cat,  who, 
I  observed,  was  regaled  from  time  to  time  with 
tit  bits  from  the  table.  This  sage  grimalkin 
was  a  favourite  of  both  master  and  mistress,  and 
slept  at  night  in  their  room  ;  and  Scott  laugh 
ingly  observed,  that  one  of  the  least  wise  parts 
of  their  establishment  was,  that  the  window 
was  left  open  at  night  for  puss  to  go  in  and  out. 
The  cat  assumed  a  kind  of  ascendency  among 
the  quadrupeds — sitting  in  state  in  Scott's  arm 
chair,  and  occasionally  stationing  himself  on  a 
chair  beside  the  door,  as  if  to  review  his  sub 
jects  as  they  passed,  giving  each  dog  a  cuff 
beside  the  ears  as  he  went  by.  This  clapper- 


ABBOTSFORD.  33 

clawing  was  always  taken  in  good  part ;  it 
appeared  to  be,  in  fact,  a  mere  act  of  sovereignty 
on  the  part  of  grimalkin,  to  remind  the  others  of 
their  vassalage ;  which  they  acknowledged  by 
the  most  perfect  acquiescence.  A  general  har 
mony  prevailed  between  sovereign  and  subjects, 
and  they  would  all  sleep  together  in  the  sun 
shine. 

Scott  was  full  of  anecdote  and  conversa 
tion  during  dinner.  He  made  some  admirable 
remarks  upon  the  Scottish  character,  and  spoke 
strongly  in  praise  of  the  quiet,  orderly,  honest 
conduct  of  his  neighbours,  which  one  would 
hardly  expect,  said  he,  from  the  descendants  of 
moss  troopers,  and  borderers,  in  a  neighbour 
hood  famed  in  old  times  for  brawl  and  feud, 
and  violence  of  all  kinds.  He  said  he  had,  in 
his  official  capacity  of  sheriff,  administered  the 
laws  for  a  number  of  years,  during  which  there 
had  been  very  few  trials.  The  old  feuds  and 
local  interests,  and  rivalries,  and  animosities  of 
the  Scotch,  however,  still  slept,  he  said,  in  their 
ashes,  and  might  easily  be  roused.  Their  here 
ditary  feeling  for  names  was  still  great.  It  was 
not  always  safe  to  have  even  the  game  of  foot 
ball  between  villages,  the  old  clanish  spirit  was 
too  apt  to  break  out.  The  Scotch,  he  said,  were 
more  revengeful  than  the  English ;  they  carried 
their  resentments  longer,  and  would  sometimes 


34  ABBOTSFORD. 

lay  them  by  for  years,  but  would  be  sure  to 
gratify  them  in  the  end. 

The  ancient  jealousy  between  the  Highland 
ers  and  the  Lowlanders  still  continued  to  a  cer 
tain  degree,  the  former  looking  upon  the  latter 
as  an  inferior  race,  less  brave  and  hardy,  but  at 
the  same  time,  suspecting  them  of  a  disposition 
to  take  airs  upon  themselves  under  the  idea  of 
superior  refinement.  This  made  them  techy  and 
ticklish  company  for  a  stranger  on  his  first  com 
ing  among  them  ;  ruffling  up  and  putting  them 
selves  upon  their  mettle  on  the  slightest  occa 
sion,  so  that  he  had  in  a  manner  to  quarrel  and 
fight  his  way  into  their  good  graces. 

He  instanced  a  case  in  point  in  a  brother  of 
Mungo  Park,  who  went  to  take  up  his  residence 
in  a  wild  neighbourhood  of  the  Highlands.  He 
soon  found  himself  considered  as  an  intruder, 
and  that  there  was  a  disposition  among  these 
cocks  of  the  hills,  to  fix  a  quarrel  on  him,  trust 
ing  that,  being  a  Lowlander,  he  would  show  the 
white  feather. 

For  a  time  he  bore  their  flings  and  taunts  with 
great  coolness,  until  one,  presuming  on  his  for 
bearance,  drew  forth  a  dirk,  and,  holding  it 
before  him,  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen  a 
weapon  like  that  in  his  part  of  the  country. 
Park,  who  was  a  Hercules  in  frame,  seized  the 
dirk,  and,  with  one  blow  drove  it  through  an 


ABBOTSFORD.  35 

oaken  table  : — "  Yes,"  replied  he,  "  and  tell  your 
friends  that  a  man  from  the  Lowlands  drove  it 
where  the  devil  himself  cannot  draw  it  out 
again."  All  persons  were  delighted  with  the 
feat,  and  the  words  that  accompanied  it.  They 
drank  with  Park  to  a  better  acquaintance,  and 
were  staunch  friends  ever  afterwards. 


AFTER  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  drawing 
room,  which  served  also  for  study  and  library. 
Against  the  wall  on  one  side  was  a  long  writing 
table,  with  drawers  ;  surmounted  by  a  small 
cabinet  of  polished  wood,  with  folding  doors 
richly  studded  with  brass  ornaments,  within 
which  Scott,  kept  his  most  valuable  papers. 
Above  the  cabinet,  in  a  kind  of  niche,  was  a 
complete  corslet  of  glittering  steel,  with  a  closed 
helmet,  and  flanked  by  gauntlets  and  battle  axes. 
Around  were  hung  trophies  and  relics  of  various 
kinds :  a  cimeter  of  Tippoo  Saib  ;  a  Highland 
broadsword  from  Floddenfield ;  a  pair  of  Rip- 
pon  spurs  from  Bannockburn ;  and  above  all,  a 
gun  which  had  belonged  to  Rob  Roy,  and  bore 
his  initials,  R.  M.  G.,  an  object  of  peculiar  in 
terest  to  me  at  the  time,  as  it.  was  understood 
Scott  was  actually  engaged  in  printing  a  novel 
founded  on  the  story  of  that  famous  outlaw. 


36  ABBOTSFORD. 

On  each  side  of  the  cabinet  were  book  cases, 
well  stored  with  works  of  romantic  fiction  in  va 
rious  languages,  many  of  them  rare  and  antiqua 
ted.  This,  however,  was  merely  his  cottage 
library,  the  principal  part  of  his  books  being  at 
Edinburgh. 

From  this  little  cabinet  of  curiosities  Scott 
drew  forth  a  manuscript  picked  up  on  the  field 
of  Waterloo,  containing  copies  of  several  songs 
popular  at  the  time  in  France.  The  paper  was 
dabbled  with  blood — "  The  life  blood,  very  pos 
sibly,"  said  Scott,  "  of  some  gay  young  officer, 
who  had  cherished  these  songs  as  a  keepsake 
from  some  lady  love  in  Paris." 

He  adverted  in  a  mellow  and  delightful  man 
ner  to  the  little  half  gay,  half  melancholy  cam 
paigning  song,  said  to  have  been  composed  by 
General  Wolfe,  and  sung  by  him  at  the  mess  ta 
ble,  in  the  air  of  the  Storming  of  Quebec,  in 
which  he  fell  so  gloriously. 

"Why  soldiers,  why, 
Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys  ? 
Why  soldiers,  why, 
Whose  business  'tis  to  die  ! 
For  should  next  campaign, 
Send  us  to  him  who  made  us,  boys, 
We're  free  from  pain  : 
But  should  we  remain, 
A  bottle  and  kind  landlady 
Makes  all  well  again." 


ABBOTSFORD.  37 

"  So,"  added  he,  "  the  poor  lad  who  fell  at 
Waterloo,  in  all  probability  had  been  singing 
these  songs  in  his  tent  the  night  before  the  bat 
tle,  and  thinking  of  the  fair  dame  that  had  taught 
him  them,  and  promising  himself,  should  he  out 
live  the  campaign,  to  return  to  her  all  glorious 
from  the  wars." 

I  find  since  that  Scott  published  translations 
of  these  songs  among  some  of  his  smaller  poems. 

The  evening  passed  away  delightfully  in  this 
quaint  looking  apartment,  half  study,  half  draw 
ing  room.  Scott  read  several  passages  from 
the  old  romance  of  Arthur,  with  a  fine  deep  so 
norous  voice,  and  a  gravity  of  tone  that  seemed 
to  suit  the  antiquated,  black  letter  volume.  It 
was  a  rich  treat,  to  hear  such  a  work,  read  by 
such  a  person,  and  in  such  a  place  ;  and  his  ap 
pearance  as  he  sat  reading,  in  a  large  armed 
chair,  with  his  favourite  hound  Maida  at  his  feet, 
and  surrounded  by  books,  and  relics,  and  border 
trophies,  would  have  formed  an  admirable  and 
most  characterestic  picture. 

While  Scott  was  reading,  the  sage  grimalkin 
already  mentioned,  had  taken  his  seat  in  a  chair 
beside  the  fire,  and  remained  with  fixed  eye 
and  grave  demeanour,  as  if  listening  to  the 
reader.  I  observed  to  Scott  that  his  cat  seemed 
to  have  a  black  letter  taste  in  literature. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "these  cats  are  a  very  myste- 
4 


38  ABBOTSFORD. 

rious  kind  of  folk.  There  is  always  more  pass 
ing  in  their  minds  than  we  are  aware  of.  It 
comes  no  doubt  from  their  being  so  familiar 
with  witches  and  warlocks."  He  went  on  to 
tell  a  little  story  about  a  gude  man  who  was  re 
turning  to  his  cottage  one  night,  when  in  a  lonely 
out  of  the  way  place,  he  met  with  a  funeral  pro 
cession  of  cats  all  in  mourning,  bearing  one  of 
their  race  to  the  grave  in  a  coffin  covered  with 
a  black  velvet  pall.  The  worthy  man,  aston 
ished  and  half  frightened  at  so  strange  a  pageant, 
hastened  home  and  told  what  he  had  seen  to  his 
wife  and  children.  Scarce  had  he  finished,  when 
a  great  black  cat  that  sat  beside  the  fire,  raised 
himself  up,  exclaimed  "Then  am  I  King  of  the 
cats,"  and  vanished  up  the  chimney.  The  fu 
neral  seen  by  the  gude  man,  was  of  one  of  the 
cat  dynasty. 

"  Our  grimalkin,  here,"  added  Scott,  "  some 
times  reminds  me  of  the  story,  by  the  airs  of 
sovereignty  which  he  assumes;  and  I  am  apt 
to  treat  him  with  respect  from  the  idea  that  he 
may  be  a  great  prince  incog.,  and  may  some 
time  or  other  come  to  the  throne." 

In  this  way  Scott  would  make  the  habits  and 
peculiarities  of  even  the  dumb  animals  about 
him,  subjects  for  humorous  remark  or  whimsical 
story. 

Our  evening  was  enlivened  also  by  an  occa- 


ABBOTSFORD.  39 

sional  song  from  Sophia  Scott,  at  the  request  of 
her  father.  She  never  wanted  to  be  asked 
twice,  but  complied  frankly  and  cheerfully.  Her 
songs  were  all  Scotch,  sung  without  any  accom 
paniment,  in  a  simple  manner,  but  with  great 
spirit  and  expression,  and  in  their  native  dia 
lects,  which  gave  them  an  additional  charm.  It 
was  delightful  to  hear  her  carol  off  in  sprightly 
style,  and  with  an  animated  air,  some  of  those 
generous  spirited  old  Jacobite  songs,  once  cur 
rent  among  the  adherents  of  the  Pretender  in 
Scotland,  in  which  he  is  designated  by  the  ap 
pellation  of  "  the  Young  Chevalier." 

These  songs  were  much  relished  by  Scott, 
notwithstanding  his  loyalty ;  for  the  unfortunate 
"  Chevalier"  has  always  been  a  hero  of  romance 
with  him,  as  he  has  with  many  other  staunch 
adherents  to  the  House  of  Hanover,  now  that 
the  Stuart  line  has  lost  all  its  terrors.  In  speak 
ing  on  the  subject,  Scott  mentioned  as  a  curious 
fact,  that,  among  the  papers  of  the  "  Chevalier," 
which  had  been  submitted  by  government  to  his 
inspection,  he  had  found  a  memorial  to  Charles, 
from  some  adherents  in  America,  dated  1778, 
proposing  to  set  up  his  standard  in  the  back  set 
tlements.  I  regret  that,  at  the  time,  I  did  not 
make  more  particular  inquiries  of  Scott  on  the 
subject ;  the  document  in  question,  however,  in 
all  probability,  still  exists  among  the  Pretender's 


40  ABBOTSFORD. 

papers,  which  are  in  the  possession  of  the  British 
Government. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Scott  related  the 
story  of  a  whimsical  picture  hanging  in  the 
room,  which  had  been  drawn  for  him  by  a  lady 
of  his  acquaintance.  It  represented  the  doleful 
perplexity  of  a  wealthy  and  handsome  young 
English  knight  of  the  olden  time,  who  in  the 
course  of  a  border  foray,  had  been  captured  and 
carried  off  to  the  castle  of  a  hard-headed  and 
high-handed  old  baron.  The  unfortunate  youth 
was  thrown  into  a  dungeon,  and  a  tall  gallows 
erected  before  the  castle  gate  for  his  execution. 
When  all  was  ready,  he  was  brought  into  the 
castle  hall  where  the  grim  baron  was  seated  in 
state,  with  his  warriors  armed  to  the  teeth 
around  him,  and  was  given  his  choice,  either  to 
swing  on  the  gibbet  or  to  marry  the  baron's 
daughter.  The  last  may  be  thought  an  easy 
alternative,  but  unfortunately,  the  baron's  young 
lady  was  hideously  ugly,  with  a  mouth  from  ear 
to  ear,  so  that  not  a  suiter  was  to  be  had  for 
her,  either  for  love  or  money,  and  she  was 
known  throughout  the  border  country  by  the 
name  of  Muckle-mouthed  Mag  ! 

The  picture  in  question  represented  the  un 
happy  dilemma  of  the  handsome  youth.  Before 
him  set  the  grim  baron,  with  a  face  worthy  of 
the  father  of  such  a  daughter,  and  looking  dag- 


ABBOTSFORD.  41 

gers  and  rat's  bane.  On  one  side  of  him  was 
Muckle-mouthed  Mag,  with  an  amorous  smile 
across  the  whole  breadth  of  her  countenance, 
and  a  leer  enough  to  turn  a  man  to  stone  ;  on  the 
other  side  was  the  father  confessor,  a  sleek  friar, 
jogging  the  youth's  elbow,  and  pointing  to  the 
gallows,  seen  in  perspective  through  the  open 
portal. 

The  story  goes,  that  after  long  labouring  in 
mind,  between  the  altar  and  the  halter,  the  love  of 
life  prevailed,  and  the  youth  resigned  himself  to 
the  charms  of  Muckle-mouthed  Mag.  Contrary 
to  all  the  probabilities  of  romance,  the  match 
proved  a  happy  one.  The  baron's  daughter,  if 
not  beautiful,  was  a  most  exemplary  wife  ;  her 
husband  was  never  troubled  with  any  of  those 
doubts  and  jealousies  which  sometimes  mar  the 
happiness  of  connubial  life,  and  was  made  the 
father  of  a  fair  and  undoubtedly  legitimate  line, 
that  still  flourishes  on  the  border. 

I  give  but  a  faint  outline  of  the  story  from 
vague  recollection  ;  it  may,  perchance,  be  more 
richly  related  elsewhere,  by  some  one  who  may 
retain  something  of  the  delightful  humour  with 
which  Scott  recounted  it. 

When  I  retired  for  the  night,  I  found  it  al 
most  impossible  to  sleep ;  the  idea  of  being  under 
the  roof  of  Scott ;  of  being  on  the  borders  of  the 

Tweed,  in  the  very  centre  of  that  region  which 

4* 


42  ABBOTSFORD. 

had  for  some  time  past  been  the  favourite  scene 
of  romantic  fiction ;  and  above  all,  the  recollec 
tions  of  the  ramble  I  had  taken,  the  company 
in  which  I  had  taken  it,  and  the  conversation 
which  had  passed,  all  fermented  in  my  mind,  and 
nearly  drove  sleep  from  my  pillow. 


ON  the  following  morning,  the  sun  darted  his 
beams  from  over  the  hills  through  the  low  lattice 
window.  I  rose  at  an  early  hour,  and  looked 
out  between  the  branches  of  eglantine  which 
overhung  the  casement.  To  my  surprise  Scott 
was  already  up  and  forth,  seated  on  a  fragment 
of  stone,  and  chatting  with  the  workmen  em 
ployed  on  the  new  building.  I  had  supposed, 
after  the  time  he  had  wasted  upon  me  yesterday, 
he  would  be  closely  occupied  this  morning :  but 
he  appeared  like  a  man  of  leisure,  who  had  no 
thing  to  do  but  bask  in  the  sunshine  and  amuse 
himself. 

I  soon  dressed  myself  and  joined  him.  He 
talked  about  his  proposed  plans  of  Abbotsford  : 
happy  would  it  have  been  for  him  could  he  have 
contented  himself  with  his  delightful  little  vine 
covered  cottage,  and  the  simple,  yet  hearty  and 
hospitable  style,  in  which  he  lived  at  the  time  of 


ABBOTSFORD.  43 

my  visit.  The  great  pile  of  Abbotsford,  w^th 
the  huge  expense  it  entailed  upon  him,  of  ser 
vants,  retainers,  guests,  and  baronial  style,  was  a 
drain  upon  his  purse,  a  task  upon  his  exertions, 
and  a  weight  upon  his  mind,  that  finally  crushed 
him. 

As  yet,  however,  all  was  in  embryo  and  per 
spective,  and  Scott  pleased  himself  with  pictur 
ing  out  his  future  residence,  as  he  would  one  of 
the  fanciful  creations  of  his  own  romances.  "  It 
was  one  of  his  air  castles,"  he  said,  "  which  he 
was  reducing  to  solid  stone  and  mortar."  About 
the  place  were  strewed  various  morsels  from  the 
ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey,  which  were  to  be  in 
corporated  in  his  mansion.  He  had  already 
constructed  out  of  similar  materials  a  kind  of 
Gothic  shrine  over  a  spring,  and  had  surmounted 
it  by  a  small  stone  cross. 

Among  the  relics  from  the  Abbey  which 
lay  scattered  before  us,  was  a  most  quaint  and 
antique  little  lion,  either  of  red  stone,  or  painted 
red,  which  hit  my  fancy.  I  forget  whose  cog 
nizance  it  was ;  but  I  shall  never  forget  the  de 
lightful  observations  concerning  old  Melrose  to 
which  it  accidentally  gave  rise. 

The  Abbey  was  evidently  a  pile  that  called 
up  all  Scott's  poetic  and  romantic  feelings  ;  and 
one  to  which  he  was  enthusiastically  attached 
by  the  most  fanciful  and  delightful  of  his  early 


44  ABIiOTSFORD. 

associations.  He  spoke  of  it,  I  may  say,  with 
affection.  "  There  is  no  telling,"  said  he,  "  what 
treasures  are  hid  in  that  glorious  old  pile.  It  is 
a  famous  place  for  antiquarian  plunder ;  there 
are  such  rich  bits  of  old  time  sculpture  for  the 
architect,  and  old  time  story  for  the  poet.  There 
is  as  rare  picking  in  it  as  in  a  Stilton  cheese, 
and  in  the  same  taste — the  mouklier  the  better." 

He  went  on  to  mention  circumstances  of 
"mighty  import"  connected  with  the  Abbey, 
which  had  never  been  touched,  and  wrhich  had 
even  escaped  the  researches  of  Johnny  Bowrer. 
The  heart  of  Robert  Bruce,  the  hero  of  Scot 
land,  had  been  buried  in  it.  He  dwelt  on  the 
beautiful  story  of  Bruce's  pious  and  chivalrous 
request  in  his  dying  hour,  that  his  heart  might 
be  carried  to  the  Holy  Land  and  placed  in  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  of  pil 
grimage  ;  and  of  the  loyal  expedition  of  Sir 
James  Douglas  to  convey  the  glorious  relic. 
Much  might  be  made,  he  said,  out  of  the  adven 
tures  of  Sir  James  in  that  adventurous  age  ;  of 
his  fortunes  in  Spain,  and  his  death  in  a  crusade 
against  the  Moors  ;  with  the  subsequent  fortunes 
of  the  heart  of  Robert  Bruce,  until  it  was  brought 
back  to  its  native  land,  and  enshrined  within  the 
holy  walls  of  old  Melrose. 

As  Scott  sat  on  a  stone  talking  in  this  way, 
and  knocking  with  his  staff  against  the  little  red 


ABBOTSFORD.  45 

lion  which  lay  prostrate  before  him,  his  gray 
eyes  kindled  beneath  his  shagged  eyebrows ; 
scenes,  images,  incidents,  kept  breaking  upon 
his  mind  as  he  proceeded,  mingled  with  touches 
of  the  mysterious  and  supernatural  as  connected 
with  the  heart  of  Bruce.  It  seemed  as  if  a  poem 
or  romance  were  breaking  vaguely  on  his  ima 
gination.  That  he  subsequently  contemplated 
something  of  the  kind,  as  connected  with  this 
subject,  and  with  his  favourite  ruin  of  Melrose, 
is  evident  from  his  introduction  to  '  The  Monas 
tery  ;'  and  it  is  a  pity  that  he  never  succeeded 
in  following  out  these  shadowy  but  enthusiastic 
conceptions. 

A  summons  to  breakfast  broke  off  our  con 
versation,  when  I  begged  to  recommend  to 
Scott's  attention  my  friend  the  little  red  lion, 
who  had  led  to  such  an  interesting  topic,  and 
hoped  he  might  receive  some  niche  or  station  in 
the  future  castle,  worthy  of  his  evident  antiquity 
and  apparent  dignity.  Scott  assured  me,  with 
comic  gravity,  that  the  valiant  little  lion  should 
be  most  honourably  entertained  ;  I  hope,  there 
fore,  that  he  still  flourishes  at  Abbotsford. 

Before  dismissing  the  theme  of  the  relics  from 
the  Abbey,  I  will  mention  another,  illustrative  of 
Scott's  varied  humours.  This  was  a  human 
scull,  which  had  probably  belonged  of  yore  to 


46  ABBOTSFORD. 

one  of  those  jovial  friars,  so  honourably  mention 
ed  in  the  old  border  ballad  : — 

"  O  the  monks  of  Melrose  made  gudo  kale 

On  Fridays,  when  they  fasted  ; 
They  wanted  neither  beef  nor  ale, 
As  long  as  their  neighbours  lasted." 

This  scull  Scott  had  caused  to  be  cleaned  and 
varnished,  and  placed  it  on  a  chest  of  drawers 
in  his  chamber,  immediately  opposite  his  bed ; 
where  I  have  seen  it,  grinning  most  dismally.  It 
was  an  object  of  great  awe  and  horror  to  the 
superstitious  housemaids ;  and  Scott  used  to 
amuse  himself  with  their  apprehensions.  Some 
times  in  changing  his  dress,  he  would  leave  his 
neckcloth  coiled  round  it  like  a  turban,  and  none 
of  the  "  lasses "  dared  to  remove  it.  It  was  a 
matter  of  great  wonder  and  speculation  among 
them  that  the  laird  should  have  such  an  "  aw- 
some  fancy  for  an  auld  girning  scull." 


AT  breakfast  that  morning,  Scott  gave  an 
amusing  account  of  a  little  Highlander  called 
Campbell  of  the  North,  who  had  a  lawrsuit  of 
many  years'  standing  with  a  nobleman  in  his 
neighbourhood  about  the  boundaries  of  their  es 
tates.  It  was  the  leading  object  of  the  little 
man's  life  ;  the  running  theme  of  all  his  conver- 


ABBOTSFORD.  47 

sations  ;  he  used  to  detail  all  the  circumstances 
at  full  length  to  every  body  he  met,  and,  to  aid 
him  in  his  description  of  the  premises,  and  make 
his  story  "  mair  preceese,"  he  had  a  great  map 
made  of  his  estate,  a  huge  roll  several  feet  long, 
•which  he  used  to  carry  about  on  his  shoulder. 
Campbell  was  a  long  bodied,  but  short  and  ban 
dy-legged  little  man,  always  clad  in  the  highland 
garb  ;  and  as  he  went  about  with  this  great  roll 
on  his  shoulder,  and  his  little  legs  curving  like  a 
pair  of  parentheses  below  his  kilt,  he  was  an 
odd  figure  to  behold.  He  was  like  little  David 
shouldering  the  spear  of  Goliath,  which  was 
"  like  unto  a  weaver's  beam." 

Whenever  sheep  shearing  was  over,  Campbell 
used  to  set  out  for  Edinburgh  to  attend  to  his 
lawsuit.  At  the  inns  he  paid  double  for  all  his 
meals  and  his  nights'  lodgings ;  telling  the  land 
lords  to  keep  it  in  mind  until  his  return,  so  that 
he  might  come  back  that  way  at  free  cost ;  for  he 
knew,  he  said,  that  he  would  spend  all  his  money 
among  the  lawyers  at  Edinburgh,  so  he  thought 
it  best  to  secure  a  retreat  home  again. 

On  one  of  his  visits  he  called  upon  his  law 
yer,  but  was  told  he  was  not  at  home,  but  his 
lady  was.  "  It  is  just  the  same  thing,"  said  little 
Campbell.  On  being  shown  into  the  parlour, 
he  unrolled  his  map,  stated  his  case  at  full  length, 
and,  having  gone  through  with  his  story,  gave 


48  ABBOTSFORD. 

her  the  customary  fee.  She  would  have  declined 
it,  but  he  insisted  on  her  taking  it.  "  I  ha'  had 
just  as  much  pleasure,"  said  he,  "  in  telling  the 
whole  tale  to  you,  as  I  should  have  had  in  telling 
it  to  your  husband,  and  I  believe  full  as  much 
profit." 

The  last  time  he  saw  Scott,  he  told  him  he 
believed  he  and  the  laird  were  near  a  settlement, 
as  they  agreed  to  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
boundary.  If  I  recollect  right,  Scott  added  that 
he  advised  the  little  man  to  consign  his  cause 
and  his  map  to  the  care  of  "  Slow  Willie  Mow- 
bray,"  of  tedious  memory  ;  an  Edinburgh  wor 
thy,  much  employed  by  the  country  people,  for 
he  tired  out  every  body  in  office  by  repeated 
visits  and  drawling,  endless  prolixity,  and  gained 
every  suit  by  dint  of  boring. 

These  little  stories  and  anecdotes  which 
abounded  in  Scott's  conversation,  rose  naturally 
out  of  the  subject,  and  were  perfectly  unforced ; 
though  in  thus  relating  them  in  a  detached  way, 
without  the  observations  or  circumstances  which 
led  to  them,  and  which  have  passed  from  my 
recollection,  they  want  their  setting  to  give  them 
proper  relief.  They  will  serve,  however,  to  show 
the  natural  play  of  his  mind,  in  its  familiar  moods, 
and  its  fecundity  in  graphic  and  characteristic 
detail. 

His   daughter  Sophia  and  his  son    Charles 


ABBOTSFORD.  49 

were  those  of  his  family  who  seemed  most  to 
feel  and  understand  his  humours,  and  to  take 
delight  in  his  conversation.  Mrs.  Scott  did  not 
always  pay  the  same  attention,  and  would  now 
and  then  make  a  casual  remark  which  would 
operate  a  little  like  a  damper.  Thus,  Scott  was 
going  on  with  great  glee  to  relate  an  anecdote 
of  the  laird  of  Macnab,  "  who,  poor  fellow  !"  said 
he,  "  is  dead  and  gone — "  "  Why,  Mr.  Scott," 
exclaimed  the  good  lady,  "  Macnab  's  not  dead, 
is  he  ?"  "  Faith,  my  dear,"  replied  Scott  with  hu 
morous  gravity,  "  if  he's  not  dead  they've  done 
him  great  injustice, — for  they've  buried  him  !" 


AFTER  breakfast,  Scott  was  occupied  for  some 
time  correcting  proof  sheets,  which  he  had  re 
ceived  by  the  mail.  The  novel  of  Rob  Roy,  as 
I  have  already  observed,  was  at  that  time  in  the 
press,  and  I  supposed  them  to  be  the  proof 
sheets  of  that  work.  The  authorship  of  the 
Waverly  novels  was  still  a  matter  of  conjecture 
and  uncertainty  ;  though  few  doubted  their  be 
ing  principally  written  by  Scott.  One  proof  to 
me  of  his  being  the  author,  was  that  he  never 
adverted  to  them.  A  man  so  fond  of  any 
thing  Scottish,  and  any  thing  relating  to  national 
history  or  local  legend,  could  not  have  been 
5 


50  ABBOTSFORD. 

mute  respecting  such  productions,  had  they  been 
written  by  another.  lie  was  fond  of  quoting 
the  works  of  his  cotemporaries  ;  he  was  continu 
ally  reciting  scraps  of  border  songs,  or  relating 
anecdotes  of  border  story.  With  respect  to  his 
own  poems,  and  their  merits,  however,  he  was 
mute,  and  while  with  him  I  observed  a  scrupu 
lous  silence  on  the  subject. 

I  may  here  mention  a  singular  fact,  of  which 
I  was  not  aware  at  the  time,  that  Scott  was 
very  reserved  with  his  children  respecting  his 
own  writings,  and  was  even  disinclined  to  their 
reading  his  romantic  poems.  I  learnt  this,  some 
time  after,  from  a  passage  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
me,  adverting  to  a  set  of  the  American  minia 
ture  edition  of  his  poems,  which,  on  my  return 
to  England,  I  forwarded  to  one  of  the  young  la 
dies.  "  In  my  hurry,"  writes  he,  "  I  have  not 
thanked  you,  in  Sophia's  name,  for  the  kind  at 
tention  which  furnished  her  with  the  American 
volumes.  1  am  not  quite  sure  I  can  add  my 
own,  since  you  have  made  her  acquainted  with 
much  more  of  papa's  folly,  than  she  would  other 
wise  have  learned ;  for  I  have  taken  special 
care  they  should  never  see  any  of  these  things 
during  their  earlier  years." 

To  return  to  the  thread  of  my  narrative. 
When  Scott  had  got  through  his  brief  literary 
occupation,  we  set  out  on  a  ramble.  The  young 


ABBOTSFORD.  51 

ladies  started  to  accompany  us,  but  had  not  gone 
far,  when  they  met  a  poor  old  labourer  and 
his  distressed  family,  and  turned  back  to  take 
them  to  the  house,  and  relieve  them. 

On  passing  the  bounds  of  Abbotsford,  we 
came  upon  a  bleak  looking  farm,  with  a  forlorn 
crazy  old  manse,  or  farm  house,  standing  in  na 
ked  desolation.  This,  however,  Scott  told  me 
was  an  ancient  hereditary  property  called  Lauck- 
end,  about  as  valuable  as  the  patrimonial  estate 
of  Don  Quixote,  and  which,  in  like  manner,  con 
ferred  a  hereditary  dignity  upon  its  proprietor, 
who  was  a  laird,  and  though  poor  as  a  rat, 
prided  himself  upon  his  ancient  blood,  and  the 
standing  of  his  house.  He  was  accordingly 
called  Lauckend,  according  to  the  Scottish  cus 
tom  of  naming  a  man  after  his  family  estate,  but 
he  was  more  generally  known  through  the  coun 
try  round,  by  the  name  of  Lauckie  Long  Legs, 
from  the  length  of  his  limbs.  While  Scott  was 
giving  this  account  of  him,  we  saw  him  at  a  dis 
tance  striding  along  one  of  his  fields,  with  his 
plaid  fluttering  about  him,  and  he  seemed  well 
to  deserve  his  appellation,  for  he  looked  all  legs 
and  tartan. 

Lauckie  knew  nothing  of  the  world  beyond 
his  neighborhood.  Scott  told  me  that  on  return 
ing  to  Abbotsford  from  his  visit  to  France,  im 
mediately  after  the  war,  he  was  called  on  by 


52  ABBOTSFORD. 

his  neighbours  generally,  to  inquire  after  foreign 
parts.  Among  the  number,  came  Lauckie  Long 
Legs  and _ an  old  brother  as  ignorant  as  himself. 
They  had  many  inquiries  to  make  about  the 
French,  who  they  seemed  to  consider  some  re 
mote  and  semi-barbarous  horde — "  And  what 
like  are  thae  barbarians  in  their  own  country  ?" 
said  Lauckie,  "  can  they  write  ? — can  they  cy 
pher?"  He  was  quite  astonished  to  learn  that 
they  were  nearly  as  much  advanced  in  civili 
zation  as  the  gude  folks  of  Abbotsford. 

After  living  for  a  long  time  in  single  blessed 
ness,  Lauckie  all  at  once,  and  not  long  before  my 
visit  to  the  neighbourhood,  took  it  into  his  head 
to  get  married.  The  neighbours  were  all  sur 
prised  ;  but  the  family  connexion,  who  were  as 
proud  as  they  were  poor,  were  grievously  scan 
dalized,  for  they  thought  the  young  woman  on 
which  he  had  set  his  mind  quite  beneath  him. 
It  was  in  vain,  however,  that  they  remonstrated 
on  the  misalliance  he  was  about  to  make :  he 
was  not  to  be  swayed  from  his  determination. 
Arraying  himself  in  his  best,  and  saddling  a 
gaunt  steed  that  might  have  rivalled  Rosinante, 
and  placing  a  pillion  behind  his  saddle,  he  de 
parted  to  wed  and  bring  home  the  humble  lassie 
who  was  to  be  made  mistress  of  the  venerable 
hovel  of  Lauckend,  and  who  lived  in  a  village 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Tweed. 


ABBOTSFORD.  53 

A  small  event  of  the  kind  makes  a  great  stir 
in  a  little  quiet  country  neighbourhood.  The 
word  soon  circulated  through  the  village  of  Mel- 
rose,  and  the  cottages  in  its  vicinity,  that  Lauckie 
Long  Legs  had  gone  over  the  Tweed  to  fetch 
home  his  bride.  All  the  good  folks  assembled 
at  the  bridge  to  await  his  return.  Lauckie, 
however,  disappointed  them  ;  for  he  crossed  the 
river  at  a  distant  ford,  and  conveyed  his  bride 
safe  to  his  mansion,  without  being  perceived. 

Let  me  step  forward  in  the  course  of  events, 
and  relate  the  fate  of  poor  Lauckie,  as  it  was 
communicated  to  me  a  year  or  two  afterwards 
in  letter  by  Scott.  From  the  time  of  his  mar 
riage  he  had  no  longer  any  peace,  owing  to  the 
constant  intermeddlings  of  his  relations,  who 
would  not  permit  him  to  be  happy  in  his  own 
way,  but  endeavoured  to  set  him  at  variance 
with  his  wife.  Lauckie  refused  to  credit  any 
of  their  stories  to  her  disadvantage  ;  but  the  in 
cessant  warfare  he  had  to  wage,  in  defence  of 
her  good  name,  wore  out  both  flesh  and  spirit. 
His  last  conflict  was  with  his  own  brothers,  in 
front  of  his  paternal  mansion.  A  furious  scold 
ing  match  took  place  between  them  ;  Lauckie 
made  a  vehement  profession  of  faith  in  her  im 
maculate  honesty,  and  then  fell  dead  at  the 
threshold  of  his  own  door.  His  person,  his 
character,  his  name,  his  story,  and  his  fate,  enti- 
5* 


54  ABBOTSFORD. 

tied  him  to  be  immortalized  in  one  of  Scott's 
novels,  and  I  looked  to  recognise  him  in  some  of 
the  succeeding  works  from  his  pen ;  but  I  looked 
in  vain. 


AFTER  passing  by  the  domains  of  honest 
Lauckie,  Scott  pointed  out,  at  a  distance,  the  Eil- 
don  stone.  There  in  ancient  days  stood  the  Eildon 
tree,  beneath  which  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  accord 
ing  to  popular  tradition,  dealt  forth  his  prophe 
cies,  some  of  which  still  exist  in  antiquated 
ballads. 

Here  we  turned  up  a  little  glen  with  a  small 
burn  or  brook  whimpering  and  dashing  along  it, 
making  an  occasional  waterfall,  and  overhung, 
in  some  places,  with  mountain  ash  and  weeping 
birch.  We  are  now,  said  Scott,  treading  classic, 
or  rather  fairy  ground.  This  is  the  haunted  glen 
of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  where  he  met  with  the 
queen  of  fairy  land,  and  this  the  bogle  burn,  or 
goblin  brook,  along  which  she  rode  on  her  dapple 
gray  palfrey,  with  silver  bells  ringing  at  the 
bridle. 

"Here,"  said  he,  pausing,  "is  Huntley  Bank, 
on  which  Thomas  the  Rhymer  lay  musing  and 
sleeping  when  he  saw,  or  dreamt  he  saw,  the 
queen  of  Elfland : 


ABBOTSFORD.  55 

"  True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank; 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  e'e  ; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  tree. 

Her  skirt  was  o'  the  grass  green  silk, 

Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne  ; 
At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane 

Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine." 

Here  Scott  repeated  several  of  the  stanzas  and 
recounted  the  circumstance  of  Thomas  the  Rhy 
mer's  interview  with  the  fairy,  and  his  being 
transported  by  her  to  fairy  land — 

"  And  til  seven  years  were  gone  and  past, 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen." 

It  is  a  fine  old  story,  said  he,  and  might  be 
wrought  up  into  a  capital  tale. 

Scott  continued  on,  leading  the  way  as  usual, 
and  limping  up  the  wizard  glen,  talking  as  he 
went,  but  as  his  back  was  toward  me,  I  could 
only  hear  the  deep  growling  tones  of  his  voice, 
like  the  low  breathing  of  an  organ,  without  dis 
tinguishing  the  words,  until  pausing,  and  turn 
ing  his  face  towards  me,  I  found  he  was  reciting 
some  scrap  of  border  minstrelsy  about  Thomas 
the  Rhymer.  This  was  continually  the  case  in 
my  ramblings  with  him  about  this  storied  neigh 
bourhood.  His  mind  was  fraught  with  the  tra 
ditionary  fictions  connected  with  every  object 
around  him,  and  he  would  breathe  it  forth  as  he 


56  ABBOTSFORD. 

went,  apparently  as  much  for  his  own  gratifica 
tion  as  for  that  of  his  companion. 

"  Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along, 
But  had  its  legend  or  its  song." 

His  voice  was  deep  and  sonorous,  he  spoke  with 
a  Scottish  accent,  and  with  somewhat  of  the 
Northumbrian  "  burr,"  which,  to  my  mind,  gave 
a  doric  strength  and  simplicity  to  his  elocu 
tion.  His  recitation  of  poetry  was,  at  times, 
magnificent. 

I  think  it  was  in  the  course  of  this  ramble  that 
my  friend  Hamlet,  the  black  greyhound,  got  into 
a  sad  scrape.  The  dogs  were  beating  about  the 
glens  and  fields  as  usual,  and  had  been  for  some 
time  out  of  sight,  when  we  heard  a  barking  at 
some  distance  to  the  left.  Shortly  after  we  saw 
some  sheep  scampering  on  the  hills,  with  the  dogs 
after  them.  Scott  applied  to  his  lips  the  ivory 
whistle,  always  hanging  at  his  button-hole,  and 
soon  called  in  the  culprits,  excepting  Hamlet. 
Hastening  up  a  bank  which  commanded  a  view 
along  a  fold  or  hollow  of  the  hills,  we  beheld 
the  sable  prince  of  Denmark  standing  by  the 
bleeding  body  of  a  sheep.  The  carcass  was 
still  warm,  the  throat  bore  marks  of  the  fatal 
grip,  and  Hamlet's  muzzle  was  stained  with 
blood.  Never  was  culprit  more  completely 
caught  in  flagrante  delictu.  I  supposed  the 
doom  of  poor  Hamlet  to  be  sealed  ;  for  no  higher 


ABBOTSFORD.  57 

offence  can  be  committed  by  a  dog  in  a  country 
abounding  with  sheep  walks.  Scott,  however, 
had  a  greater  value  for  his  dogs  than  for  his 
sheep.  They  were  his  companions  and  friends. 
Hamlet,  too,  though  an  irregular  impertinent 
kind  of  youngster,  was  evidently  a  favourite. 
He  would  not  for  some  time  believe  it  could  be 
he  who  had  killed  the  sheep.  It  must  have  been 
some  cur  of  the  neighbourhood,  that  had  made 
off  on  our  approach,  and  left  poor  Hamlet  in  the 
lurch.  Proofs,  however,  were  too  strong,  and 
Hamlet  was  generally  condemned.  "  Well, 
well,"  said  Scott,  "  it's  partly  my  own  fault.  I 
have  given  up  coursing  for  some  time  past,  and 
the  poor  dog  has  had  no  chance  after  game  to 
take  the  fire  edge  off  of  him.  If  he  was  put 
after  a  hare  occasionally  he  never  would  meddle 
with  sheep." 

I  understood,  afterwards,  that  Scott  actually 
got  a  pony,  and  went  out  now  and  then  coursing 
with  Hamlet,  who,  in  consequence,  showed  no 
further  inclination  for  mutton. 


A  FURTHER  stroll  among  the  hills  brought  us 
to  what  Scott  pronounced  the  remains  of  a 
Roman  camp,  and  as  we  sat  upon  a  hillock 
which  had  once  formed  a  part  of  the  ramparts, 


58  ABBOTSFORD, 

he  pointed  oat  the  traces  of  the  lines  and 
bulwarks,  and  the  praetorium,  and  showed  a 
knowledge  of  castramatation  that  would  not  have 
disgraced  the  antiquarian  Oldbuck  himself.  In 
deed,  various  circumstances  that  I  observed 
about  Scott  during  my  visit,  concurred  to  per 
suade  me  that  many  of  the  antiquarian  humours 
of  Monkbarns  were  taken  from  his  own  richly 
compounded  character,  and  that  some  of  the 
scenes  and  personages  of  that  admirable  novel 
were  furnished  by  his  immediate  neighbourhood. 

He  gave  me  several  anecdotes  of  a  noted 
pauper  named  Andrew  Gemmells,  or  Gammel, 
as  it  was  pronounced,  who  had  once  flourished 
on  the  banks  of  Galla  Water,  immediately  oppo 
site  Abbotsford,  and  whom  he  had  seen  and 
talked  and  joked  with  when  a  boy ;  and  I  in 
stantly  recognised  the  likeness  of  that  mirror  of 
philosophic  vagabonds  and  Nestor  of  beggars, 
Edie  Ochiltree.  I  v/as  on  the  point  of  pronoun 
cing  the  name  and  recognising  the  portrait,  when 
I  recollected  the  incognito  observed  by  Scott 
with  respect  to  the  novels,  and  checked  myself; 
but  it  was  one  among  many  things  that  tended 
to  convince  me  of  his  authorship. 

His  picture  of  Andrew  Gemmells  exactly  ac 
corded  with  that  of  Edie  as  to  his  height,  car 
riage,  and  soldier-like  air,  as  well  as  his  arch  and 
sarcastic  humour.  His  home,  if  home  he  had, 


ABBOTSFORD.  59 

was  at  Gallashiels  ;  but  he  went  "daundering" 
about  the  country,  along  the  green  shaws  and 
beside  the  burns,  and  was  a  kind  of  walking 
chronicle  throughout  the  valleys  of  the  Tweed, 
the  Ettrick,  and  the  Yarrow  ;  carrying  the  gos 
sip  from  house  to  house,  commenting  on  the  in 
habitants  and  their  concerns,  and  never  hesi 
tating  to  give  them  a  dry  rub  as  to  any  of  their 
faults  or  follies. 

A  shrewd  beggar  like  Andrew  Gemmells,  Scott 
added,  who  could  sing  the  old  Scotch  airs,  tell 
stories  and  traditions,  and  gossip  away  the  long 
winter  evenings,  was  by  no  means  an  unwelcome 
visiter  at  a  lonely  manse  or  cottage.  The  chil 
dren  would  run  to  welcome  him,  and  place  his 
stool  in  a  warm  corner  of  the  ingle  nook,  and 
the  old  folks  would  receive  him  as  a  privileged 
guest. 

As  to  Andrew,  he  looked  upon  them  all  as  a 
parson  does  upon  his  parishioners,  and  consider 
ed  the  alms  he  received  as  much  his  due  as  the 
other  does  his  tythes.  I  rather  think,  added 
Scott,  Andrew  considered  himself  more  of  a 
gentleman  than  those  who  toiled  for  a  living,  and 
that  he  secretly  looked  down  upon  the  pains 
taking  peasants  that  fed  and  sheltered  him. 

He  had  derived  his  aristocratical  notions  in 
some  degree  from  being  admitted  occasionally 
to  a  precarious  sociability  with  some  of  the  small 


60  ABBOTSFORD. 

country  gentry,  who  were  sometimes  in  want 
of  company  to  help  while  away  the  time.  With 
these  Andrew  would  now  and  then  play  at  cards 
and  dice,  and  he  never  lacked  "  siller  in  pouch" 
to  stake  on  a  game,  which  he  did  with  a  perfect 
air  of  a  man  to  whom  money  was  a  matter  of 
little  moment,  and  no  one  could  lose  his  money 
with  more  gentlemanlike  coolness. 

Among  those  who  occasionally  admitted  him 
to  this  familiarity,  was  old  John  Scott  of  Galla, 
a  man  of  family,  who  inhabited  his  paternal  man 
sion  of  Torwoodlee.  Some  distinction  of  rank, 
however,  \vas  still  kept  up.  The  laird  sat  on 
the  inside  of  the  window  and  the  beggar,  on  the 
outside,  and  they  played  cards  on  the  sill. 

Andrew  now  and  then  told  the  laird  a  piece 
of  his  mind  very  freely ;  especially  on  one  oc 
casion,  when  he  had  sold  some  of  his  paternal 
lands  to  build  himself  a  larger  house  with  the 
proceeds.  The  speech  of  honest  Andrew  smacks 
of  the  shrewrdness  of  Edie  Ochiltree. 

"  It's  a'  varra  weel — it's  a'  varra  weel,  Tor 
woodlee,"  said  he  ;  "  but  who  would  ha'  thought 
that  your  father's  son  would  ha'  sold  two  gude 
estates  to  build  a  shaw's  (cuckoo's)  nest  on  the 
side  of  a  hill  ?" 


ABBOTSFORD.  61 

THAT  day  there  was  an  arrival  at  Abbotsford 
of  two  English  tourists  ;  one  a  gentleman  of  for 
tune  and  landed  estate,  the  other  a  young  cler 
gyman  whom  he  appeared  to  have  under  his 
patronage,  and  to  have  brought  with  him  as  a 
travelling  companion. 

The  patron  was  one  of  those  well  bred,  com 
monplace  gentlemen  with  which  England  is 
overrun.  He  had  great  deference  for  Scott, 
and  endeavoured  to  acquit  himself  learnedly  in 
his  company,  aiming  continually  at  abstract  dis 
quisitions,  for  which  Scott  had  little  relish.  The 
conversation  of  the  latter,  as  usual,  was  studded 
with  anecdotes  and  stories,  some  of  them  of 
great  pith  and  humour :  the  well  bred  gentleman 
was  either  too  dull  to  feel  their  point,  or  too  de 
corous  to  indulge  in  hearty  merriment ;  the 
honest  parson,  on  the  contrary,  who  was  not  too 
refined  to  be  happy,  laughed  loud  and  long  at 
every  joke,  and  enjoyed  them  with  the  zest  of  a 
man  who  has  more  merriment  in  his  heart  than 
coin  in  his  pocket. 

After  they  were  gone,  some  comments  were 
made  upon  their  different  deportments.  Scott 
spoke  very  respectfully  of  the  good  breeding  and 
measured  manners  of  the  man  of  wealth,  but 
with  a  kindlier  feeling  of  the  honest  parson,  and 
the  homely  but  hearty  enjoyment  with  which  he 
relished  every  pleasantry.  "  I  doubt,"  said  he, 
6 


62  ABBOTSFORD. 

"  whether  the  parson's  lot  in  life  is  not  the  best ; 
if  he  cannot  command  as  many  of  the  good  things 
of  this  world  by  his  own  purse  as  his  patron  can, 
he  beats  him  all  hollow  in  his  enjoyment  of  them 
when  set  before  him  by  others.  Upon  the  whole," 
added  he,  "  I  rather  think  I  prefer  the  honest 
parson's  good  humour  to  his  patron's  good  breed 
ing  ;  I  have  a  great  regard  for  a  hearty  laugher." 
He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  great  influx  of 
English  travellers,  which  of  late  years  had  inun 
dated  Scotland;  and  doubted  whether  they  had 
not  injured  the  old  fashioned  Scottish  character. 
"  Formerly,  they  came  here  occasionally  as 
sportsmen,"  said  he,  "  to  shoot  moor  game,  with 
out  any  idea  of  looking  at  scenery ;  and  they 
moved  about  the  country  in  hardy  simple  style, 
coping  with  the  country  people  in  their  own 
way ;  but  now  they  come  rolling  about  in  their 
equipages,  to  see  ruins,  and  spend  money,  and 
their  lavish  extravagance  has  played  the  ven 
geance  with  the  common  people.  It  has  made 
them  rapacious  in  their  dealings  with  strangers, 
greedy  after  money,  and  extortionate  in  their 
demands  for  the  most  trivial  services.  For 
merly,"  continued  he,  "  the  poorer  classes  of  our 
people,  were,  comparatively,  disinterested  ;  they 
offered  their  services  gratuitously,  in  promoting 
the  amusement,  or  aiding  the  curiosity  of  stran 
gers,  and  were  gratified  by  the  smallest  com- 


ABBOTSFORD.  63 

pensation ;  but  now  they  make  a  trade  of  show 
ing  rocks  and  ruins,  and  are  as  greedy  as  Italian 
cicerone.  They  look  upon  the  English  as  so 
many  walking  money  bags,  the  more  they  are 
shaken  and  poked,  the  more  they  will  leave  be 
hind  them." 

I  told  him  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to  answer 
for  on  that  head,  since  it  was  the  romantic  asso 
ciations  he  had  thrown  by  his  writings,  over  so 
many  out  of  the  way  places  in  Scotland,  that 
had  brought  in  the  influx  of  curious  travellers. 

Scott  laughed,  and  said  he  believed  I  might 
be  in  some  measure  in  the  right,  as  he  recol 
lected  a  circumstance  in  point.  Being  one  time 
at  Glenross,  an  old  woman  who  kept  a  small  inn, 
which  had  but  little  custom,  was  uncommonly 
officious  in  her  attendance  upon  him,  and  abso 
lutely  incommoded  him  with  her  civilities.  The 
secret  at  length  came  out.  As  he  was  about 
to  depart,  she  addressed  him  with  many  curt 
sies,  and  said  she  understood  he  was  the  gen 
tleman  that  had  written  a  bonnie  book  about 
Loch  Katrine.  She  begged  him  to  write  a  lit 
tle  about  their  lake  also,  for  she  understood  his 
book  had  done  the  inn  at  Loch  Katrine  a  muckle 
deal  of  good. 


64  ABBOTSFORD. 

ON  the  following  day,  I  made  an  excursion 
with  Scott  and  the  young  ladies,  to  Dryburgh 
Abbey.  We  went  in  an  open  carriage,  drawn 
by  two  sleek  old  black  horses,  for  which  Scott 
seemed  to  have  an  affection,  as  he  had  for  every 
dumb  animal  that  belonged  to  him.  Our  road 
lay  through  a  variety  of  scenes,  rich  in  poetical 
and  historical  associations,  about  most  of  which 
Scott  had  something  to  relate.  In  one  part  of 
the  drive,  he  pointed  to  an  old  border  keep,  or 
fortress,  on  the  summit  of  a  naked  hill,  several 
miles  off,  which  he  called  Smallholm  Tower,  and 
a  rocky  knoll  on  which  it  stood,  the  "  Sandy 
Knowe  crags."  It  was  a  place,  he  said,  pecu 
liarly  dear  to  him,  from  the  recollections  of 
childhood.  His  grandfather  had  lived  there  in 
the  old  Smallholm  Grange,  or  farm  house  :  and 
he  had  been  sent  there,  when  but  two  years  old, 
on  account  of  his  lameness,  that  he  might  have 
the  benefit  of  the  pure  air  of  the  hills,  and  be  un 
der  the  care  of  his  grandmother  and  aunts. 

In  the  introduction  of  one  of  the  cantos  of  Mar- 
mion,  he  has  depicted  his  grandfather,  and  the 
fireside  of  the  farm  house  ;  and  has  given  an 
amusing  picture  of  himself  in  his  boyish  years. 

"  Still  with  vain  fondness  could  I  trace, 
Anew  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brightened  at  our  evening  fire  ; 
From  the  thatched  mansion's  gray-haired  sire, 


ABBOTSFORU.  65 

Wise  without  learning,  plain  and  good, 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood ; 
Whose  eye  in  age,  quick,  clear  and  keen, 
Showed  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been  ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbours  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought ; 
To  him  the  venerable  priest, 
Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest, 
Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  saint ; 
Alas  !  whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke ; 
For  I  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-willed  imp,  a  grandame's  child  ; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest, 
Was  still  endured,  beloved,  carest." 

It  was,  he  said,  during  his  residence  at  Small- 
holm  crags,  that  he  first  imbibed  his  passion  for 
legendary  tales,  border  traditions,  and  old  national 
songs  and  ballads.  His  grandmother  and  aunts, 
were  well  versed  in  that  kind  of  lore,  so  current 
in  Scottish  country  life.  They  used  to  recount 
them  in  long,  gloomy,  winter  days,  and  about  the 
ingle  nook  at  night,  in  conclave  with  their  gossip 
visiters  ;  and  little  Walter  would  sit  and  listen 
with  greedy  ear;  thus,  taking  into  his  infant 
mind,  the  seeds  of  many  a  splendid  fiction. 

There  was  an  old  shepherd,  he  said,  in  the 
service  of  the  family,  who  used  to  sit  under  the 
sunny  wall,  and  tell  marvellous  stories,  and  re 
cite  old  time  ballads,  as  he  knitted  stockings. 
Scott  used  to  be  wheeled  out  in  his  chair,  in 
6* 


66  ABBOTSFORD. 

fine  weather,  and  would  sit  beside  the  old  man, 
and  listen  to  him  for  hours. 

The  situation  of  Sandy  Knowe  was  favourable 
both  for  story  teller  and  listener.  It  commanded 
a  wide  view  over  all  the  border  country,  with 
its  feudal  towers,  its  haunted  glens,  and  wizard 
streams.  As  the  old  shepherd  told  his  tales,  he 
could  point  out  the  very  scene  of  action.  Thus, 
before  Scott  could  walk,  he  was  made  familiar 
with  the  scenes  of  his  future  stories  ;  they  were 
all  seen  as  through  a  magic  medium,  and  took 
that  tinge  of  romance,  which  they  ever  after  re 
tained  in  his  imagination.  From  the  height  of 
Sandy  Knowe,  he  may  be  said  to  have  had  the 
first  look  out  upon  the  promised  land  of  his  fu 
ture  glory. 

On  referring  to  Scott's  works,  I  find  many 
of  the  circumstances  related  in  this  conversation, 
about  the  old  tower,  and  the  boyish  scenes  con 
nected  with  it,  recorded  in  the  introduction  to 
Marmion,  already  cited.  This  was  frequently 
the  case  with  Scott ;  incidents  and  feelings  that 
had  appeared  in  his  writings,  were  apt  to  be 
mingled  up  in  his  conversation,  for  they  had 
been  taken  from  what  he  had  witnessed  and  felt 
in  real  life,  and  were  connected  with  those 
scenes  among  which  he  lived,  and  moved,  and 
had  his  being.  I  make  no  scruple  at  quoting  the 
passage  relative  to  the  tower,  though  it  repeats 


ABBOTSFORD.  67 

much  of  the  foregone  imagery,  and  with  vastly 
superior  effect. 

"Thus,  while  I  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charmed  me  yet  a  child, 
Rude  though  they  be,  still  with  the  chime 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time  ; 
And  feelings  roused  in  life's  first  day, 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 
Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
Which  charmed  my  fancy's  wakening  hour, 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along 
To  claim  perchance  heroic  song  ; 
Though  sighed  no  groves  in  summer  gale 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale  ; 
Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 
Claimed  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed  ; 
Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given, 
By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 
It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 
Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled  ; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  turfs  of  loveliest  green  ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew 
And  honey-suckle  loved  to  crawl 
Up  the  low  crag  and  ruined  wall. 
I  deemed  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  his  round  surveyed  ; 
And  still  I  thought  that  shattered  tower 
The  mightiest  work  of  human  power ; 
And  marvelled  as  the  aged  hind 
With  some  strange  tale  bewitched  my  mind, 
Of  forayers,  who,  with  headlong  force, 
Down  from  that  strength  had  spurred  their  horse, 
Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 
Far  in  the  distant  Cheviot's  blue, 


68  ABBOTSFORD. 

And,  home  returning,  filled  the  hall 

With  revel,  wassell-rout,  and  brawl — 

Methought  that  still  with  tramp  and  clang 

The  gate-way's  broken  arches  rang ; 

Methought  grim  features,  seamed  with  scars, 

Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bars. 

And  ever  by  the  winter  hearth, 

Old  tales  I  heard  of  wo  or  mirth, 

Of  lovers'  sleights,  of  ladies' charms, 

Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms  ; 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold  ; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight, 

When  pouring  from  the  highland  height, 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway, 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 

While  stretched  at  length  upon  the  floor, 

Again  I  fought  each  combat  o'er, 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid, 

The  mimic  ranks  of  war  displayed ; 

And  onward  still  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 

And  still  the  scattered  Southron  fled  before." 

Scott  eyed  the  distant  height  of  Sandy  Knowe 
with  an  earnest  gaze  as  we  rode  along,  and  said 
he  had  often  thought  of  buying  the  place,  repair 
ing  the  old  tower,  and  making  it  his  residence. 
He  has  in  some  measure,  however,  paid  off  his 
early  debt  of  gratitude,  in  clothing  it  with  poetic 
and  romantic  associations,  by  his  tale  of  "  The 
Eve  of  St.  John."  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  those 
who  actually  possess  so  interesting  a  monument 
of  Scott's  early  days,  will  preserve  it  from  and 
further  delapidation. 


ABBOTSFORD.  69 

Not  far  from  Sandy  Knowe,  Scott  pointed  out 
another  old  border  hold,  standing  on  the  summit 
of  a  hill,  which  had  been  a  kind  of  enchanted 
castle  to  him  in  his  boyhood.  It  was  the  tower  of 
Bemerside,  the  baronial  residence  of  the  Haigs', 
or  De  Haga's,  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  the 
border.  "  There  had  seemed  to  him,"  he  said, 
"almost  a  wizard  spell  hanging  over  it,  in  conse 
quence  of  a  prophecy  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  in 
which,  in  his  young  days,  he  most  potently  be 
lieved  :" 

"  Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Bemerside." 

Scott  added  some  particulars  which  showed 
that,  in  the  present  instance,  the  venerable 
Thomas  had  not  proved  a  false  prophet,  for  it 
was  a  noted  fact,  that,  amid  all  the  changes  and 
chances  of  the  border;  through  all  the  feuds, 
and  forays,  and  sackings,  and  burnings,  which 
had  reduced  most  of  the  castles  to  ruins,  and 
the  proud  families  that  once  possessed  them  to 
poverty,  the  tower  of  Bemerside  still  remained 
unscathed,  and  was  still  the  strong  hold  of  the 
ancient  family  of  Haig. 

Prophecies,  however,  often  ensure  their  own 
fulfilment.  It  is  very  probable  that  the  predic 
tion  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer  has  linked  the 
Haigs  to  their  tower,  as  their  rock  of  safety,  and 
has  induced  them  to  cling  to  it,  almost  supersti- 


70  ABBOTSFORD. 

tiously,  through  hardship  and  inconveniences  that 
would,  otherwise,  have  caused  its  abandonment. 
I  afterwards  saw,  at  Dryburgh  Abbey,  the 
burying  place  of  this  predestinated  and  tena 
cious  family,  the  inscription  of  which  showed  the 
value  they  set  upon  their  antiquity: — 

"  Locus  Sepulturce, 
Antiquessimae  Families 

De  Haga 
Do  Bemerside. 

In  reverting  to  the  days  of  his  childhood,  Scott 
observed  that  the  lameness  that  had  disabled 
him  in  infancy  gradually  decreased ;  he  soon 
acquired  strength  in  his  limbs,  and  though  he 
always  limped,  he  became,  even  in  boyhood,  a 
great  walker.  He  used  frequently  to  stroll  from 
home  and  wander  about  the  country  for  days 
together,  picking  up  all  kinds  of  local  gossip, 
and  observing  popular  scenes  and  characters. 
His  father  used  to  be  vexed  with  him  for  this 
wandering  propensity,  and  shaking  his  head, 
would  say  he  fancied  the  boy  would  make  noth 
ing  but  a  pedler.  As  he  grew  older,  he  became 
a  keen  sportsman,  and  passed  much  of  his  time 
hunting  and  shooting.  His  field  sports  led  him 
into  the  most  wild  and  unfrequented  parts  of  the 
country,  and  in  this  way  he  picked  up  much  of 
that  local  knowledge  which  he  has  since  evinced 
in  his  writings. 


ABBOTSFORD.  71 

His  first  visit  to  Loch  Katrine,  he  said,  was 
in  his  boyish  days,  on  a  shooting  excursion.  The 
island,  which  he  has  made  the  romantic  resi 
dence  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  was  then  gar 
risoned  by  an  old  man  and  his  wife.  Their 
house  was  vacant :  they  had  put  the  key  under 
the  door,  and  were  absent  fishing.  It  was  at  that 
time  a  peaceful  residence,  but  became  after 
wards  a  resort  of  smugglers,  until  they  were 
ferreted  out. 

In  after  years,  when  Scott  began  to  turn  this 
local  knowledge  to  literary  account,  he  revisited 
many  of  those  scenes  of  his  early  ramblings,  and 
endeavoured  to  secure  the  fugitive  remains  of  the 
traditions  and  songs  that  had  charmed  his  boy 
hood.  When  collecting  materials  for  his  Border 
Minstrelsy,  he  used,  he  said,  to  go  from  cottage 
to  cottage  and  make  the  old  wives  repeat  all 
they  knew,  if  but  two  lines;  and  by  putting  these 
scraps  together,  he  retrieved  many  a  fine  charac 
teristic  old  ballad  or  tradition  from  oblivion. 

I  regret  to  say  that  I  can  recollect  scarce  any 
thing  of  our  visit  to  Dryburgh  Abbey.  It  is  on 
the  estate  of  the  Earl  of  Buchan.  The  religious 
edifice  is  a  mere  ruin,  rich  in  Gothic  antiquities, 
but  especially  interesting  to  Scott,  from  contain 
ing  the  family  vault,  and  the  tombs  and  monu 
ments  of  his  ancestors.  He  appeared  to  feel 
much  chagrin  at  their  being  in  the  possession, 


72  ABBOTSFORD. 

and  subject  to  the  intermeddlings  of  the  Earl, 
who  was  represented  as  a  nobleman  of  an 
eccentric  character.  The  latter,  however,  set 
great  value  on  these  sepulchral  relics,  and  had 
expressed  a  lively  anticipation  of  one  day  or 
other  having  the  honour  of  burying  Scott,  and 
adding  his  monument  to  the  collection,  which  he 
intended  should  be  worthy  of  the  "  mighty  min 
strel  of.  the  north," — a  prospective  compliment 
which  was  by  no  means  relished  by  the  object 
of  it. 


ONE  of  my  pleasantest  rambles  with  Scott, 
about  the  neighbourhood  of  Abbotsford,  was 
taken  in  company  with  Mr.  William  Laidlaw,  the 
steward  of  his  estate.  This  was  a  gentleman 
for  whom  Scott  entertained  a  particular  value. 
He  had  been  born  to  a  competency,  had  been 
well  educated,  his  mind  was  richly  stored  with 
varied  information,  and  he  was  a  man  of  sterling 
moral  worth.  Having  been  reduced  by  misfor 
tune,  Scott  had  got  him  to  take  charge  of  his 
estate.  He  lived  at  a  small  farm  on  the  hill 
side  above  Abbotsford,  and  was  treated  by  Scott 
as  a  cherished  and  confidential  friend,  rather 
than  a  dependant. 

As  the  day  was  showery,  Scott  was  attended 
by  one  of  his  retainers,  who  carried  his  plaid. 


ABBOTSFORD.  73 

This  man,  whose  name,  I  think,  was  George, 
deserves  especial  mention.  Sophia  Scott  used 
to  call  him  her  father's  grand  vizier,  and  she 
gave  a  playful  account  one  evening,  as  she  was 
hanging  on  her  father's  arm,  of  the  consultations 
which  he  and  George  used  to  have  about  mat 
ters  relative  to  farming.  *  George  was  tenacious 
of  his  opinions,  and  he  and  Scott  would  have 
long  disputes  in  front  of  the  house,  as  to  some 
thing  that  was  to  be  done  on  the  estate,  until  the 
latter,  fairly  tired  out,  would  abandon  the  ground 
and  the  argument,  exclaiming,  "  Well,  well, 
George,  have  it  your  own  way." 

After  a  time,  however,  George  would  present 
himself  at  the  door  of  the  parlour,  and  observe, 
"I  ha'  been  thinking  over  the  matter,  and 
upon  the  whole,  I  think  I'll  take  your  honour's 
advice." 

Scott  laughed  heartily  when  this  anecdote  was 
told  of  him.  "  It  was  with  him  and  George," 
he  said,  "  as  it  was  with  an  old  laird  and  a  pet 
servant,  whom  he  had  indulged  until  he  was 
positive  beyond  all  endurance.  '  This  won't 
do !'  cried  the  old  laird,  in  a  passion,  '  we  can't 
live  together  any  longer — we  must  part ;'  '  An' 
where  the  deel  does  your  honour  mean  to  go  ?' 
replied  the  other." 

I  would,  moreover,  observe  of  George,  that  he 
was  a  firm  believer  in  ghosts,  and  warlocks,  and 
7 


74  ABBOTSFORD. 

al!  kinds  of  old  wives'  fable.  He  was  a  religous 
man,  too,  mingling  a  little  degree  of  Scottish 
pride  in  his  devotion ;  for  though  his  salary  was 
but  twenty  pounds  a  year,  he  had  managed  to 
afford  seven  pounds  for  a  family  bible.  It  is 
true,  he  had  one  hundred  pounds  clear  of  the 
world,  and  was  looked  up  to  by  his  comrades  as 
a  man  of  property. 

In  the  course  of  our  morning's  walk,  we  stop 
ped  at  a  small  house  belonging  to  one  of  the 
labourers  on  the  estate.  The  object  of  Scott's 
visit  was  to  inspect  a  relic  which  had  been 
digged  up  in  the  Roman  camp,  and  which,  if  I 
recollect  right,  he  pronounced  to  have  been  a 
tongs.  It  was  produced  by  the  cottager's  wife, 
a  ruddy,  healthy  looking  dame,  whom  Scott  ad 
dressed  by  the  name  of  Ailie.  As  he  stood 
regarding  the  relic,  turning  it  round  and  round, 
and  making  comments  upon  it,  half  grave,  half 
comic,  with  the  cottage  group  around  him,  all 
joining  occasionally  in  the  colloquy,  the  inimita 
ble  character  of  Monkbarns  was  again  brought 
to  mind,  and  I  seemed  to  see  before  me  that 
prince  of  antiquarians  and  humourists  holding 
forth  to  his  unlearned  and  unbelieving  neigh 
bours. 

Whenever  Scott  touched,  in  this  way,  upon 
local  antiquities,  and  in  all  his  familiar  conver 
sations  about  local  traditions  and  superstitions, 


ABBOTSFORD.  75 

there  was  always  a  sly  and  quiet  humour  run 
ning  at  the  bottom  of  his  discourse,  and  playing 
about  his  countenance,  as  if  he  sported  with  the 
subject.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  distrusted  his 
own  enthusiasm,  and  was  disposed  to  droll  upon 
his  own  humours  and  peculiarities,  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  a  poetic  gleam  in  his  eye  would 
show  that  he  really  took  a  strong  relish  and  inte 
rest  in  them.  "  It  was  a  pity,"  he  said,  "  that 
antiquarians  were  generally  so  dry,  for  the  sub 
jects  they  handled  were  rich  in  historical  and 
poetic  recollections,  in  picturesque  details,  in 
quaint  and  heroic  characteristics,  and  in  all 
kinds  of  curious  and  obsolete  ceremonials.  They 
are  always  groping  among  the  rarest  materials 
for  poetry,  but  they  have  no  idea  of  turning 
them  to  poetic  use.  Now  every  fragment  from 
old  times  has,  in  some  degree,  its  story  with  it, 
or  gives  an  inkling  of  something  characteristic 
of  the  circumstances  and  manners  of  its  day,  and 
so  sets  the  imagination  at  work." 

For  my  own  part  I  never  met  with  antiquarian 
so  delightful,  either  in  his  writings  or  his  con 
versation,  and  the  quiet  subacid  humour  that  was 
prone  to  mingle  in  his  disquisitions,  gave  them, 
to  me,  a  peculiar  and  an  exquisite  flavour.  But  he 
seemed,  in  fact,  to  undervalue  every  thing  that 
concerned  himself.  The  play  of  his  genius  was 
so  easy  that  he  was  unconscious  of  its  mighty 


76  ABBOTSFORD. 

power,  and  made  light  of  those  sports  of  intel 
lect  that  shamed  the  efforts  and  labours  of  other 
minds. 

Our  ramble  this  morning  took  us  again  up  the 
Rhymer's  glen,  and  by  Huntley  bank,  and  Hunt- 
ley  wood,  and  the  silver  waterfall  overhung  with 
weeping  birches  and  mountain  ashes,  those  deli 
cate  and  beautiful  trees  which  grace  the  green 
shaws  and  burn  sides  of  Scotland.  The  heather, 
too,  that  closely  woven  robe  of  Scottish  land 
scape  which  covers  the  nakedness  of  its  hills 
and  mountains,  tinted  the  neighbourhood  with 
soft  and  rich  colours.  As  we  ascended  the  glen, 
the  prospects  opened  upon  us  ;  Melrose,  with  its 
towers  and  pinnacles,  lay  below;  beyond  was 
the  Eildon  hills,  the  Cowden  Knowes,  the  Tweed, 
the  Galla  water,  and  all  the  storied  vicinity ; 
the  whole  landscape  varied  by  gleams  of  sun 
shine  and  driving  showers. 

Scott,  as  usual,  took  the  lead,  limping  along 
with  great  activity,  and  in  joyous  mood,  giving 
scraps  of  border  rhymes  and  border  stories  ; 
two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  our  walk 
there  were  drizzling  showers,  which  I  supposed 
would  put  an  end  to  our  ramble,  but  my  compa 
nions  trudged  on  as  unconcernedly  as  if  it  had 
been  fine  weather. 

At  length,  I  asked  whether  we  had  not  better 
seek  some  shelter.  "  True,"  said  Scott,  "  I  did 


ABBOTSFORD.  77 

not  recollect  that  you  were  not  accustomed  to 
our  Scottish  mists.  This  is  a  lachrymose  climate, 
evermore  showering.  We,  however,  are  chil 
dren  of  the  mist,  and  must  not  mind  a  little 
whimpering  of  the  clouds  any  more  than  a  man 
must  the  weeping  of  an  hysterical  wife.  As 
you  are  not  accustomed  to  be  wet  through,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  in  a  morning's  walk,  we  will 
bide  a  bit  under  the  lee  of  this  bank  until  the 
shower  is  over."  Taking  his  seat  under  shelter 
of  a  thicket,  he  called  to  his  man  George  for  his 
tartan,  then  turning  to  me,  "  come,"  said  he, 
"  come  under  my  plaidy,  as  the  old  song  goes  ;" 
so,  making  me  nestle  down  beside  him,  he 
wrapped  a  part  of  the  plaid  round  me,  and  took 
me,  as  he  said,  under  his  wing. 

While  we  were  thus  nestled  together,  he  point 
ed  to  a  hole  in  the  opposite  bank  of  the  glen. 
That,  he  said,  was  the  hole  of  an  old  gray 
badger,  who  was,  doubtless,  snugly  housed  in 
this  bad  weather.  Sometimes  he  saw  him  at 
the  entrance  of  his  hole,  like  a  hermit  at  the 
door  of  his  cell,  telling  his  beads,  or  reading  a 
homily.  He  had  a  great  respect  for  the  venera 
ble  anchorite,  and  would  not  suffer  him  to  be 
disturbed.  He  was  a  kind  of  successor  to  Tho 
mas  the  Rhymer,  and  perhaps  might  be  Thomas 
himself  returned  from  fairy  land,  but  still  under 
fairy  spell. 

7* 


78  ABBOTSFORD. 

Some  accident  turned  the  conversation  upon 
Hogg,  the  poet,  in  which  Laidlaw,  who  was 
seated  beside  us,  took  a  part.  Hogg  had  once 
been  a  shepherd  in  the  service  of  his  father,  and 
Laidlaw  gave  many  interesting  anecdotes  of 
him,  of  which  I  now  retain  no  recollection. 
They  used  to  tend  the  sheep  together  when 
Laidlaw  was  a  boy,  and  Hogg  would  recite  the 
first  struggling  conceptions  of  his  muse.  At 
night  when  Laidlaw  was  quartered  comfortably 
in  bed,  in  the  farm  house,  poor  Hogg  would  take 
to  the  shepherd's  hut,  in  the  field  on  the  hill  side, 
and  there  lie  awake  for  hours  together,  and  look 
at  the  stars  and  make  poetry,  which  he  would 
repeal,  the  next  day  to  his  companion. 

Scott  spoke  in  warm  terms  of  Hogg,  and  re 
peated  passages  from  his  beautiful  poem  of 
Kelmeny,  to  which  he  gave  great  and  well  me 
rited  praise.  He  gave,  also,  some  amusing 
anecdotes  of  Hogg  and  his  publisher,  Black  wood, 
who  was  at  that  time  just  rising  into  the  bibliogra 
phical  importance  which  he  has  since  enjoyed. 

Hogg  in  one  of  his  poems,  I  believe  the 
Pilgrims  of  the  Sun,  had  dabbled  a  little  in 
metaphysics,  and  like  his  heroes,  had  got  into 
the  clouds.  Blackwood,  who  began  to  affect 
criticism,  argued  stoutly  with  him  as  to  the 
necessity  of  omitting  or  elucidating  some  obscure 
passage.  Hogg  was  immoveable. 


ABBOTSFORD.  79 

"  But,  man,"  said  Blackwood,  "  I  dinna  ken 
what  ye  mean  in  this  passage."  "  Hout  tout, 
man,"  replied  Hogg,  impatiently,  "  I  dinna  ken 
always  what  I  mean  mysel."  There  is  many  a 
metaphysical  poet  in  the  same  predicament  with 
honest  Hogg. 

Scott  promised  to  invite  the  Shepherd  to  Ab- 
botsford  during  my  visit,  and  I  anticipated  much 
gratification  in  meeting  with  him,  from  the  ac 
count  I  had  received  of  his  character  and  man 
ners,  and  the  great  pleasure  I  had  derived  from 
his  works.  Circumstances,  however,  prevented 
Scott  from  performing  his  promise  ;  and  to  my 
great  regret  I  left  Scotland  without  seeing  one 
of  its  most  original  and  national  characters. 

When  the  weather  held  up,  we  continued  our 
walk  until  we  carne  to  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water, 
in  the  bosom  of  the  mountain,  called,  if  I  recol 
lect  right,  the  lake  of  Cauldshiel.  Scott  prided 
himself  much  upon  this  little  Mediterranean  sea 
in  his  dominions,  and  hoped  I  was  not  too  much 
spoiled  by  our  great  lakes  in  America  to  relish  it. 
He  proposed  to  take  me  out  to  the  centre  of  it, 
to  a  fine  point  of  view ;  for  which  purpose  we 
embarked  in  a  small  boat,  which  had  been  put 
on  the  lake  by  his  neighbour  Lord  Somerville. 
As  I  was  about  to  step  on  board,  I  observed  in 
large  letters  on  one  of  the  benches,  "  Search  No. 
2."  I  paused  for  a  moment  and  repeated  the 


80  ABBOTSFORD. 

inscription  aloud,  trying  to  recollect  something  I 
had  heard  or  read  to  which  it  alluded.  "  Pshaw," 
cried  Scott,  "  it  is  only  some  of  Lord  Somer- 
ville's  nonsense — get  in  !"  In  an  instant  scenes 
in  the  Antiquary  connected  with  "  Search  No.  1" 
flashed  upon  my  mind.  "  Ah  !  I  remember  now," 
said  I,  and  with  a  laugh  took  my  seat,  but  ad 
verted  no  more  to  the  circumstance. 

We  had  a  pleasant  row  about  the  lake,  which 
commanded  some  pretty  scenery.  The  most 
interesting  circumstance  connected  with  it,  how 
ever,  according  to  Scott,  was,  that  it  was  haunt 
ed  by  a  bogle  in  the  shape  of  a  water  bull,  which 
lived  in  the  deep  parts,  and  now  and  then  came 
forth  upon  dry  land  and  made  a  tremendous 
roaring,  that  shook  the  very  hills.  This  story 
had  been  current  in  the  vicinity  from  time  imme 
morial  ; — there  was  a  man  living  who  declared 
he  had  seen  the  bull, — and  he  was  believed  by 
many  of  his  simple  neighbours.  "  I  don't  choose 
to  contradict  the  tale,"  said  Scott,  "  for  I  am 
willing  to  have  my  lake  stocked  with  any  fish, 
flesh,  or  fowl  that  my  neighbours  think  proper 
to  put  into  it  ;  and  these  old  wives'  fables  are  a 
kind  of  property  in  Scotland  that  belong  to  the 
estates  and  go  with  the  soil.  Our  streams  and 
lochs  are  like  the  rivers  and  pools  in  Germany, 
that  have  all  their  Wasser  Nixe,  or  water  witches, 


ABBOTSFORD.  81 

and  I  have  a  fancy  for  these  kind  of  amphibious 
bogles  and  hobgoblins." 


SCOTT  went  on  after  we  had  landed  to  make 
many  remarks,  mingled  with  picturesque  anec 
dotes,  concerning  the  fabulous  beings  with  which 
the  Scotch  were  apt  to  people  the  wild  streams 
and  lochs  that  occur  in  the  solemn  and  lonely 
scenes  of  their  mountains  ;  and  to  compare  them 
with  similar  superstitions  among  the  northern 
nations  of  Europe ;  but  Scotland,  he  said,  was 
above  all  other  countries  for  this  wild  and  vivid 
progeny  of  the  fancy,  from  the  nature  of  the 
scenery,  the  misty  magnificence  and  vagueness 
of  the  climate,  the  wild  and  gloomy  events  of  its 
history;  the  clanish  divisions  of  its  people  ;  their 
local  feelings,  notions,  and  prejudices  ;  the  indi 
viduality  of  their  dialect,  in  which  all  kinds  of 
odd  and  peculiar  notions  were  incorporated  ;  by 
the  secluded  life  of  their  mountaineers ;  the 
lonely  habits  of  their  pastoral  people,  much  of 
whose  time  was  passed  on  the  solitary  hill  sides  ; 
their  traditional  songs,  which  clothed  every  rock 
and  stream  with  old  world  stories,  handed  down 
from  age  to  age  and  generation  to  generation. 
The  Scottish  mind,  he  said,  was  made  up  of 
poetry  and  strong  common  sense  ;  and  the  very 


82  ABBOTSFORD. 

strength  of  the  latter  gave  perpetuity  and  luxu 
riance  to  the  former.  It  was  a  strong  tenacious 
soil,  into  which,  when  once  a  seed  of  poetry  fell, 
it  struck  deep  root  and  brought  forth  abundant 
ly.  "  You  will  never  weed  these  popular  stories 
and  songs  and  superstitions  out  of  Scotland," 
said  he.  "  It  is  not  so  much  that  the  people  be 
lieve  in  them,  as  that  they  delight  in  them.  They 
belong  to  the  native  hills  and  streams  of  which 
they  are  fond,  and  to  the  history  of  their  forefa 
thers  of  which  they  are  proud." 

"  It  would  do  your  heart  good,"  continued  he, 
"  to  see  a  number  of  our  poor  country  people 
seated  round  the  ingle  nook,  which  is  generally 
capacious  enough,  and  passing  the  long  dark 
dreary  winter  nights  listening  to  some  old  wife, 
or  strolling  gaberlunzie  beggar,  dealing  out  auld 
world  stories,  about  bogles  and  warlocks,  or 
about  raids  and  forays,  and  border  skirmishes  ; 
or  reciting  some  ballad  stuck  full  of  those  fight 
ing  names  that  stir  up  a  true  Scotchman's  blood 
like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  These  traditional 
tales  and  ballads  have  lived  for  ages  in  mere 
oral  circulation,  being  passed  from  father  to  son, 
or  rather  from  grandam  to  grandchild,  and  are  a 
kind  of  hereditary  property  of  the  poor  peasant 
ry,  of  which  it  would  be  hard  to  deprive  them, 
as  they  have  not  circulating  libraries  to  supply 
them  with  works  of  fiction  in  their  place." 


ABBOTSFORD.  83 

I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  precise  words, 
but,  as  nearly  as  I  can  from  scanty  memoran 
dums  and  vague  recollections,  the  leading  ideas 
of  Scott.  I  am  constantly  sensible,  however, 
how  far  I  fall  short  of  his  copiousness  and  rich 
ness. 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  elves  and  sprites, 
so  frequent  in  Scottish  legend.  "  Our  fairies, 
however,"  said  he,  "though  they  dress  in  green, 
and  gambol  by  moonlight  about  the  banks,  and 
shaws,  and  burn  sides,  are  not  such  pleasant  little 
folks  as  the  English  fairies,  but  are  apt  to  bear 
more  of  the  warlock  in  their  natures,  and  to 
play  spiteful  tricks.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  used 
to  look  wistfully  at  the  green  hillocks  that  were 
said  to  be  haunted  by  fairies,  and  felt  sometimes 
as  if  I  should  like  to  lie  down  by  them  and 
sleep,  and  be  carried  off  to  Fairy  land,  only  that 
I  did  not  like  some  of  the  cantrips  which  used 
now  and  then  to  be  played  off  upon  visiters." 

Here  Scott  recounted,  in  graphic  style,  and 
with  much  humour,  a  little  story  which  used  to 
be  current  in  the  neighbourhood,  of  an  honest 
burgess  of  Selkirk,  who,  being  at  work  upon 
the  hill  of  Peatlaw,  fell  asleep  upon  one  of  these 
'  fairy  knowes,'  or  hillocks.  When  he  awoke,  he 
rubbed  his  eyes  and  gazed  about  him  with  aston 
ishment,  for  he  was  in  the  market  place  of  a 
great  city,  with  a  crowd  of  people  bustling 


84  ABBOTSFORD. 

about  him,  not  one  of  whom  he  knew.  At  length 
he  accosted  a  bystander,  and  asked  him  the 
name  of  the  place.  "  Hout  man,"  replied  the 
other,  "are  ye  in  the  heart  o'  Glasgow,  and 
speer  the  name  of  it."  The  poor  man  was  as 
tonished,  and  would  not  believe  either  ears  or 
eyes  ;  he  insisted  that  he  had  laid  down  to  sleep 
but  half  an  hour  before  on  the  Peatlaw,  near 
Selkirk.  He  came  well  nigh  being  taken  up  for 
a  mad  man,  when,  fortunately  a  Selkirk  man 
came  by,  who  knew  him,  and  took  charge  of 
him,  and  conducted  him  back  to  his  native  place. 
Here,  however,  he  was  likely  to  fare  no  better, 
when  he  spoke  of  having  been  whisked  in  his 
sleep  from  the  Peatlaw  to  Glasgow.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  at  length  came  out ;  his  coat,  which 
he  had  taken  off  when  at  work  on  the  Peatlaw, 
was  found  lying  near  a  "  fairy  knowe,"  and  his 
bonnet,  which  was  missing,  was  discovered  on 
the  weathercock  of  Lanark  steeple.  So  it  was 
as  clear  as  day  that  he  had  been  carried  through 
the  air  by  the  fairies  while  he  was  sleeping,  and 
his  bonnet  had  been  blown  off  by  the  way. 

I  give  this  little  story  but  meagerly  from  a 
scanty  memorandum  ;  Scott  has  related  it  in 
somewhat  different  style  in  a  note  to  one  of  his 
poems  ;  but  in  narration  these  anecdotes  derived 
their  chief  zest,  from  the  quiet  but  delightful 
humour,  the  bonhommie  with  which  he  seasoned 


ABBOTSFORD.  85 

them,  and  the  sly  glance  of  the  eye  from  under 
his  bushy  eyebrows,  with  which  they  were  ac 
companied. 


THAT  day  at  dinner,  we  had  Mr.  Laidlaw  and 
his  wife,  and  a  female  friend  who  accompanied 
them.  The  latter  was  a  very  intelligent,  respec 
table  person,  about  the  middle  age,  and  was 
treated  with  particular  attention  and  courtesy 
by  Scott.  Our  dinner  was  a  most  agreeable 
one;  for  the  guests  were  evidently  cherished 
visitors  to  the  house,  and  felt  that  they  were  ap 
preciated. 

When  they  were  gone,  Scott  spoke  of  them 
in  the  most  cordial  manner.  "  I  wished  to  show 
you,"  said  he,  "  some  of  our  really  excellent, 
plain  Scotch  people  :  not  fine  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  for  such  you  can  meet  every  where,  and 
they  are  every  where  the  same.  The  character 
of  a  nation  is  not  to  be  learnt  from  its  fine  folks." 

He  then  went  on  with  a  particular  eulogium 
on  the  lady  who  had  accompanied  the  Laidlaws. 
She  was  the  daughter,  he  said,  of  a  poor  country 
clergyman,  who  had  died  in  debt,  and  left  her 
an  orphan  and  destitute.  Having  had  a  good 
plain  education,  she  immediately  set  up  a  child's 
school,  and  had  soon  a  numerous  flock  under  her 
8 


86  ABBOTSFORD. 

care,  by  which  she  earned  a  decent  mainte 
nance.  That,  however,  was  not  her  main  ob 
ject.  Her  first  care  was  to  pay  off  her  father's 
debts,  that  no  ill  word  or  ill  will  might  rest  upon 
his  memory.  This,  by  dint  of  Scottish  econo 
my,  backed  by  filial  reverence  and  pride,  she 
accomplished,  though  in  the  effort,  she  subjected 
herself  to  every  privation.  Not  content  with 
this,  she  in  certain  instances  refused  to  take  pay 
for  the  tuition  of  the  children  of  some  of  her 
neighbours,  who  had  befriended  her  father  in  his 
need,  and  had  since  fallen  into  poverty.  "  In  a 
word,"  added  Scott,  "  she  is  a  fine  old  Scotch 
girl ;  and  I  delight  in  her,  more  than  in  many  a 
fine  lady  I  have  known,  and  I  have  known  many 
of  the  finest." 


IT  is  time,  however,  to  draw  this  rambling 
narrative  to  a  close.  Several  days  were  passed 
by  me,  in  the  way  I  have  attempted  to  describe, 
in  almost  constant,  familiar,  and  joyous  conver 
sation  with  Scott ;  it  was,  as  if  I  were  admitted 
to  a  social  communion  with  Shakspeare,  for  it 
was  with  one  of  a  kindred,  if  not  equal  genius. 
Every  night  I  retired  with  my  mind  filled  with 
delightful  recollections  of  the  day,  and  every 
morning  I  rose  with  the  certainty  of  new  enjoy- 


ABBOTSFORD.  87 

ment.  The  days  thus  spent,  I  shall  ever  look 
back  to,  as  among  the  very  happiest  of  my  life  ; 
for  I  was  conscious  at  the  time  of  being  happy. 
The  only  sad  moment  that  I  experienced  at 
Abbotsford,  was  that  of  my  departure  ;  but  it 
was  cheered  with  the  prospect  of  soon  returning; 
for  I  had  promised,  after  making  a  tour  in  the 
Highlands,  to  come  and  pass  a  few  more  days  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tweed,  when  Scott  intended 
to  invite  Hogg  the  poet  to  meet  me.  I  took  a 
kind  farewell  of  the  family,  with  each  of  whom 
I  had  been  highly  pleased  ;  if  I  have  refrained 
from  dwelling  particularly  on  their  several  cha 
racters,  and  giving  anecdotes  of  them  individu 
ally,  it  is  because  I  consider  them  shielded  by 
the  sanctity  of  domestic  life :  Scott,  on  the  con 
trary,  belongs  to  history.  As  he  accompanied 
me  on  foot,  however,  to  a  small  gate  on  the  con 
fines  of  his  premises,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
expressing  the  enjoyment  I  had  experienced  in 
his  domestic  circle,  and  passing  some  warm 
eulogiums  on  the  young  folks,  from  whom  I  had 
just  parted.  I  shall  never  forget  his  reply.  "  They 
have  kind  hearts,"  said  he,  "  and  that  is  the 
main  point  as  to  human  happiness.  They  love 
one  another,  poor  things,  which  is  every  thing  in 
domestic  life.  The  best  wish  I  can  make  you, 
my  friend,"  added  he,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder,  "  is,  that  when  you  return  to  your  own 


88  ABBOTSFORD. 

country,  you  may  get  married,  and  have  a  family 
of  young  bairns  about  you.  If  you  are  happy, 
there  they  are  to  share  your  happiness — and  if 
you  are  otherwise — there  they  are  to  comfort 
you." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  gate,  when 
he  halted  and  took  my  hand.  "  I  will  not  say 
farewell,"  said  he,  "  for  it  is  always  a  painful 
word,  but  I  will  say,  come  again.  When  you 
have  made  your  tour  to  the  Highlands,  come 
here  and  give  me  a  few  more  days — but  come 
when  you  please,  you  will  always  find  Abbots- 
ford  open  to  you,  and  a  hearty  welcome." 


I  HAVE  thus  given,  in  a  rude  style,  my  main 
recollections  of  what  occurred  during  my  sojourn 
at  Abbotsford,  and  I  feel  mortified  that  I  can 
give  but  such  meager,  scattered,  and  colourless 
details  of  what  was  so  copious,  rich,  and  varied. 
During  several  days  that  I  passed  there  Scott 
was  in  admirable  vein.  From  early  morn  until 
dinner  time,  he  was  rambling  about  showing  me 
the  neighbourhood,  and  during  dinner,  and  until 
late  at  night,  engaged  in  social  conversation.  No 
time  was  reserved  for  himself;  he  seemed  as  if 
his  only  occupation  was  to  entertain  me ;  and 
yet  I  was  almost  an  entire  stranger  to  him,  one 


ABBOTSPORD.  89 

of  whom  he  knew  nothing,  but  an  idle  book  I  had 
written,  and  which,  some  years  before,  had 
amused  him.  But  such  was  Scott — he  appeared 
to  have  nothing  to  do  but  lavish  his  time,  atten 
tion,  and  conversation  on  those  around.  It  was 
difficult  to  imagine  what  time  he  found  to  write 
those  volumes  that  were  incessantly  issuing 
from  the  press  ;  all  of  which,  too,  were  of  a  na 
ture  to  require  reading  and  research.  I  could 
not  find  that  his  life  was  ever  otherwise  than  a 
life  of  leisure  and  hap-hazard  recreation,  such  as 
it  was  during  my  visit.  He  scarce  ever  balked 
a  party  of  pleasure,  or  a  sporting  excursion,  and 
rarely  pleaded  his  own  concerns  as  an  excuse 
for  rejecting  those  of  others.  During  my  visit  I 
heard  of  other  visitors  who  had  preceded  me, 
and  who  must  have  kept  him  occupied  for  many 
days,  and  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  knowing 
the  course  of  his  daily  life  for  some  time  subse 
quently.  Not  long  after  my  departure  from 
Abbotsford,  my  friend  Wilkie  arrived  there,  to 
paint  a  picture  of  the  Scott  family.  He  found 
the  house  full  of  guests.  Scott's  whole  time  was 
taken  up  in  riding  and  driving  about  the  country, 
or  in  social  conversation  at  home.  "All  this 
time,"  said  Wilkie  to  me,  "  I  did  not  presume  to 
ask  Mr.  Scott  to  sit  for  his  portrait,  for  I  saw  he 
had  not  a  moment  to  spare ;  I  waited  for  the 
guests  to  go  away,  but  as  fast  as  one  set  went 
8* 


90  ABBOTSFORD. 

another  arrived,  and  so  it  continued  for  several 
days,  and  with  each  set  he  was  completely  occu 
pied.  At  length  all  went  off,  and  we  were  quiet. 
I  thought,  however,  Mr.  Scott  will  now  shut 
himself  up  among  his  books  and  papers,  for  he 
has  to  make  up  for  lost  time  ;  it  won't  do  for  me 
to  ask  him  now  to  sit  for  his  picture.  Laidlaw, 
who  managed  his  estate,  came  in,  and  Scott 
turned  to  him,  as  I  supposed,  to  consult  about 
business.  '  Laidlaw,'  said  he,  '  to-morrow  mor 
ning  we'll  go  across  the  water  and  take  the  dogs 
with  us — thre's  a  place  where  I  think  we  shall 
be  able  to  find  a  hare.' 

"  In  short,"  added  Wilkie,  "  I  found  that  in 
stead  of  business,  he  was  thinking  only  of  amuse 
ment,  as  if  he  had  nothing  in  the  world  to  occupy 
him;  so  I  no  longer  feared  to  intrude  upon 
him." 

The  conversation  of  Scott  was  frank,  hearty, 
picturesque,  and  dramatic.  During  the  time  of 
my  visit  he  inclined  to  the  comic  rather  than 
the  grave,  in  his  anecdotes  and  stories,  and  such, 
I  was  told,  was  his  general  inclination.  He 
relished  a  joke,  or  a  trait  of  humour  in  social 
intercourse,  and  laughed  with  right  good  will. 
He  talked  not  for  effect  or  display,  but  from  the 
flow  of  his  spirits,  the  stores  of  his  memory,  and 
the  vigour  of  his  imagination.  He  had  a  natural 
turn  for  narration,  and  his  narratives  and  de- 


ABBOTSFORD.  91 

scriptions  were  without  effort,  yet  wonderfully 
graphic.  He  placed  the  scene  before  you  like  a 
picture ;  he  gave  the  dialogue  with  the  appro 
priate  dialect  or  peculiarities,  and  described  the 
appearance  and  characters  of  his  personages 
with  that  spirit  and  felicity  evinced  in  his  wri 
tings.  Indeed,  his  conversation  reminded  me 
continually  of  his  novels  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me, 
that  during  the  whole  time  I  was  with  him,  he 
talked  enough  to  fill  volumes,  and  that  they 
could  not  have  been  filled  more  delightfully. 

He  was  as  good  a  listener  as  talker,  appreci 
ated  every  thing  that  others  said,  however  hum 
ble  might  be  their  rank  or  pretensions,  and  was 
quick  to  testify  his  perception  of  any  point  in 
their  discourse.  He  arrogated  nothing  to  himself, 
:but  was  perfectly  unassuming  and  unpretending, 
entering  with  heart  and  soul  into  the  business,  or 
pleasure,  or,  I  had  almost  said  folly,  of  the  hour 
and  the  company.  No  one's  concerns,  no  one's 
thoughts,  no  one's  opinions,  no  one's  tastes  and 
pleasures  seemed  beneath  him.  He  made  him 
self  so  thoroughly  the  companion  of  those  with 
whom  he  happened  to  be,  that  they  forgot  for  a 
time  his  vast  superiority,  and  only  recollected 
and  wondered,  when  all  was  over,  that  it  was 
Scott  with  whom  they  had  been  on  such  familiar 
terms,  and  in  whose  society  they  had  felt  so  per 
fectly  at  their  ease. 


92  ABBOTSFORD. 

It  was  delightful  to  observe  the  generous  mode 
in  which  he  spoke  of  all  his  literary  cotempora- 
ries,  quoting  the  beauties  of  their  works,  and 
this,  too,  with  respect  to  persons  with  whom  he 
might  have  been  supposed  to  be  at  variance  in 
literature  or  politics.  Jeffrey,  it  was  thought, 
had  ruffled  his  plumes  in  one  of  his  reviews,  yet 
Scott  spoke  of  him  in  terms  of  high  and  warm 
eulogy,  both  as  an  author  and  as  a  man. 

His  humour  in  conversation,  as  in  his  works, 
was  genial  and  free  from  all  causticity.  He  had 
a  quick  perception  of  faults  and  foibles,  but  he 
looked  upon  poor  human  nature  with  an  indul 
gent  eye,  relishing  what  was  good  and  pleasant, 
tolerating  what  was  frail,  and  pitying  what  was 
evil.  It  is  this  beneficent  spirit  which  gives  such 
an  air  of  bonhommie  to  Scott's  humour  through 
out  all  his  works.  He  played  with  the  foibles 
and  errors  of  his  fellow  beings,  and  presented 
them  in  a  thousand  whimsical  and  characteristic 
lights,  but  the  kindness  and  generosity  of  his 
nature  would  not  allow  him  to  be  a  satirist.  I 
do  not  recollect  a  sneer  throughout  his  conver 
sation  any  more  than  there  is  throughout  his 
works. 

Such  is  a  rough  sketch  of  Scott,  as  I  saw  him 
in  private  life,  not  merely  at  the  time  of  the  visit 
here  narrated,  but  in  the  casual  intercourse  of 
subsequent  years.  Of  his  public  character  and 


ABBOTSFORD.  93 

merits,  all  the  world  can  judge.  His  works  have 
incorporated  themselves  with  the  thoughts  and 
concerns  of  the  whole  civilized  world,  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  and  have  had  a  controlling 
influence  over  the  age  in  which  he  lived.  But 
when  did  a  human  hiJMiifrtn  -being  ever  exercise 
an  influence  more  salutary  and  benignant  ?  Who 
is  there  that,  on  looking  back  over  a  great  por 
tion  of  his  life,  does  not  find  the  genius  of  Scott 
administering  to  his  pleasures,  beguiling  his 
cares,  and  soothing  his  lonely  sorrows?  Who 
does  not  still  guard  his  works  as  a  treasury  of 
pure  enjoyment,  an  armoury  to  which  to  resort 
in  time  of  need,  to  find  weapons  with  which  to 
fight  off  the  evils  and  the  griefs  of  life  ?  For  my 
own  part,  in  periods  of  dejection,  I  have  hailed 
the  announcement  of  a  new  work  from  his  pen 
as  an  earnest  of  certain  pleasure  in  store  for  me, 
and  have  looked  forward  to  it  as  a  traveller  in  a 
waste  looks  to  a  given  spot  at  a  distance,  where 
he  feels  assured  of  solace  and  refreshment. 
When  I  consider  how  much  he  has  thus  con 
tributed  to  the  better  hours  of  my  past  existence, 
and  how  independent  his  works  still  make  me, 
at  times,  of  all  the  world  for  my  enjoyment,  I 
bless  my  stars  that  cast  my  lot  in  his  days,  to  be 
thus  cheered  and  gladdened  by  the  outpourings 
of  his  genius.  I  consider  it  one  of  the  greatest 
advantages  that  I  have  derived  from  my  literary 


94  ABBOTSFORD. 

career,  that  it  has  elevated  me  into  genial  com 
munion  with  such  a  spirit ;  and  as  a  tribute  of 
gratitude  for  his  friendship,  and  veneration  for 
his  memory,  I  cast  this  humble  stone  upon  his 
cairn,  which  will  soon,  I  trust,  be  piled  aloft  with 
the  contributions  of  abler  hands. 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY. 


97 


NEWSTEAD    ABBEY. 


HISTORICAL  NOTICE. 

BEING  about  to  give  a  few  sketches  taken 
during  a  three  weeks'  sojourn  in  the  ancestral 
mansion  of  the  late  Lord  Byron,  I  think  it  proper 
to  premise  some  brief  particulars  concerning  its 
history. 

Newstead  Abbey  is  one  of  the  finest  speci 
mens  in  existence  of  those  quaint  and  romantic 
piles,  half  castle  half  convent,  which  remain  as 
monuments  of  the  olden  times  of  England.  It 
stands,  too,  in  the  midst  of  a  legendary  neigh 
bourhood  ;  being  in  the  heart  of  Sherwood  Fo 
rest,  and  surrounded  by  the  haunts  of  Robin 
Hood  and  his  band  of  outlaws,  so  famous  in  an 
cient  ballad  and  nursery  tale.  It  is  true,  the 
forest  scarcely  exists  but  in  name,  and  the  tract 
of  country  over  which  it  once  extended  its  broad 
solitudes  and  shades,  is  now  an  open  and  smiling 
region,  cultivated  with  parks  and  farms,  and  en 
livened  with  villages. 

Newstead,  which  probably  once  exerted  a 
9 


98  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

monastic  sway  over  this  region,  and  controlled 
the  consciences  of  the  rude  foresters,  was  ori 
ginally  a  priory,  founded  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
twelfth  century,  by  Henry  II.,  at  the  time  when 
he  sought,  by  building  of  shrines  and  convents, 
and  by  other  acts  of  external  piety,  to  expiate 
the  murder  of  Thomas  a  Becket.  The  priory 
was  dedicated  to  God  and  the  Virgin,  and  was 
inhabited  by  a  fraternity  of  canons  regular  of 
St.  Augustine.  This  order  was  originally  sim 
ple  and  abstemious  in  its  mode  of  living,  and 
exemplary  in  its  conduct ;  but  it  would  seem 
that  it  gradually  lapsed  into  those  abuses  which 
disgraced  too  many  of  the  wealthy  monastic  es 
tablishments  ;  for  there  are  documents  among 
its  archives  which  intimate  the  prevalence  of 
gross  misrule  and  dissolute  sensuality  among  its 
members. 

At  the  time  of  the  dissolution  of  the  convents 
during  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  Newstead  un 
derwent  a  sudden  reverse,  being  given,  with  the 
neighbouring  manor  and  rectory  of  Papelwick, 
to  Sir  John  Byron,  Steward  of  Manchester  and 
Rochdale,  and  Lieutenant  of  Sherwood  Forest. 
This  ancient  family  worthy  figures  in  the  tradi 
tions  of  the  Abbey,  and  in  the  ghost  stories  with 
which  it  abounds,  under  the  quaint  and  graphic 
appellation  of  "  Sir  John  Byron  the  Little,  with 
the  great  Beard."  He  converted  the  saintly  edi- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  99 

fice  into  a  castellated  dwelling,  making  it  his 
favourite  residence  and  the  seat  of  his  forest  ju 
risdiction. 

The  Byron  family  being  subsequently  enno 
bled  by  a  baronial  title,  and  enriched  by  various 
possessions,  maintained  great  style  and  retinue 
at  Nevvstead.  The  proud  edifice  partook,  how 
ever,  of  the  vicissitudes  of  the  times,  and  Lord 
Byron,  in  one  of  his  poems,  represents  it  as  alter 
nately  the  scene  of  lordly  wassailing  and  of  civil 
war. 

"  Hark,  how  the  hall  resounding  to  the  strain, 

Shakes  with  the  martial  music's  novel  din  ! 
The  heralds  of  a  warrior's  haughty  reign, 

High  crested  banners  wave  thy  walls  within. 
Of  changing  sentinels  the  distant  hum, 

The  mirth  offcasts,  the  clang  of  burnish'd  arms, 
The  braying  trumpet,  and  the  hoarser  drum, 

Unite  in  concert  with  increased  alarms." 

About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  the  Ab 
bey  came  into  the  possession  of  another  noted 
character,  who  makes  no  less  figure  in  its  sha 
dowy  traditions  than  Sir  John  the  Little  with 
the  great  Beard.  This  was  the  grand  uncle  of 
the  poet,  familiarly  known  among  the  gossiping 
chroniclers  of  the  Abbey  as  "  the  Wicked  Lord 
Byron."  He  is  represented  as  a  man  of  irritable 
passions  and  vindictive  temper,  in  the  indulgence 
of  which  an  incident  occurred  which  gave  a  turn 


100  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

to  his  whole  character  and  life,  and  in  some 
measure  affected  the  fortunes  of  the  Abbey.  In 
his  neighbourhood  lived  his  kinsman  and  friend, 
Mr.  Chaworth,  proprietor  of  Annesley  Hall. 
Being  together  in  London  in  1765,  in  a  chamber 
of  the  Star  and  Garter  tavern  in  Pall  Mall,  a 
quarrel  arose  between  them.  Byron  insisted 
upon  settling  it  upon  the  spot  by  single  combat. 
They  fought  without  seconds,  by  the  dim  light 
of  a  candle,  and  Mr.  Chaworth,  although  the 
most  expert  swordsman,  received  a  mortal 
wound.  With  his  dying  breath  he  related  such 
particulars  of  the  contest  as  induced  the  coro 
ner's  jury  to  return  a  verdict  of  wilful  murder. 
Lord  Byron  was  sent  to  the  tower,  and  subse 
quently  tried  before  the  House  of  Peers,  where 
an  ultimate  verdict  was  given  of  manslaughter. 

He  retired  after  this  to  the  Abbey,  where  he 
shut  himself  up  to  brood  over  his  disgraces  ;  grew 
gloomy,  morose,  and  fantastical,  and  indulged  in 
fits  of  passion  and  caprice,  that  made  him  the 
theme  of  rural  wonder  and  scandal.  No  tale 
was  too  wild  or  too  monstrous  for  vulgar  belief. 
Like  his  successor  the  poet,  he  was  accused  of 
all  kinds  of  vagaries  and  wickedness.  It  was 
said  that  he  always  went  armed,  as  if  prepared 
to  commit  murder  on  the  least  provocation. 
At  one  time  when  a  gentleman  of  his  neighbour 
hood  was  to  dine  tete  a  tete  with  him,  it  is  said  a 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  101 

brace  of  pistols  were  gravely  laid  with  the 
knives  and  forks  upon  the  table,  as  part  of  the 
regular  table  furniture,  and  implements  that 
might  be  needed  in  the  course  of  the  repast. 
Another  rumour  states  that  being  exasperated 
at  his  coachman  for  disobedience  to  orders,  he 
shot  him  on  the  spot,"  threw  his  body  into  the 
coach  where  lady  Byron  was  seated,  and, 
mounting  the  box,  officiated  in  his  stead.  At 
another  time,  according  to  the  same  vulgar  ru 
mours,  he  threw  her  ladyship  into  the  lake  in 
front  of  the  Abbey,  where  she  would  have  been 
drowned,  but  for  the  timely  aid  of  the  gardener. 
These  stories  are  doubtless  exaggerations  of 
trivial  incidents  which  may  have  occurred  ;  but 
it  is  certain  that  the  wayward  passions  of  this 
unhappy  man  caused  a  separation  from  his  wife, 
and  finally  spread  a  solitude  around  him.  Being 
displeased  at  the  marriage  of  his  son,  and  heir, 
he  displayed  an  inveterate  malignancy  towards 
him.  Not  being  able  to  cut  off  his  succession 
to  the  Abbey  estate,  which  descended  to  him  by 
entail,  he  endeavoured  to  injure  it  as  much  as 
possible,  so  that  it  might  come  a  mere  wreck 
into  his  hands.  For  this  purpose  he  suffered  the 
Abbey  to  fall  out  of  repair,  and  every  thing  to 
go  to  waste  about  it,  and  cut  down  all  the  tim 
ber  on  the  estate,  laying  low  many  a  tract  of  old 
Sherwood  Forest,  so  that  the  Abbey  lands  lay 
9*  » 


102  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

stripped  and  bare  of  all  their  ancient  honours. 
He  was  baffled  in  his  unnatural  revenge  by  the 
premature  death  of  his  son,  and  passed  the  re 
mainder  of  his  days  in  his  deserted  and  dilapi 
dated  halls,  a  gloomy  misanthrope,  brooding 
amidst  the  scenes  he  had  laid  desolate. 

His  wayward  humours  drove  from  him  all 
neighbourly  society,  and  for  a  part  of  the  time 
he  was  almost  without  domestics.  In  his  mis 
anthropic  mood,  when  at  variance  with  all  hu 
man  kind,  he  took  to  feeding  crickets,  so  that  in 
process  of  time  the  Abbey  was  overrun  with 
them,  and  its  lonely  halls  made  more  lonely  at 
night,  by  their  monotonous  music.  Tradition  adds 
that,  at  his  death,  the  crickets  seemed  aware 
that  they  had  lost  their  patron  and  protector,  for 
they  one  and  all  packed  up  bag  and  baggage, 
and  left  the  Abbey,  trooping  across  its  courts 
and  corridors  in  all  directions. 

The  death  of  the  "  Old  Lord,"  or  "  The  Wicked 
Lord  Byron,"  for  he  is  known  by  both  appella 
tions,  occurred  in  1798  ;  and  the  Abbey  then 
passed  into  the  possession  of  the  poet.  The 
latter  was  but  eleven  years  of  age,  and  living 
in  humble  style  with  his  mother  in  Scotland. 
They  came  soon  after  to  England,  to  take  pos 
session.  Moore  gives  a  simple  but  striking  an 
ecdote  of  the  first  arrival  of  the  poet  at  the 
domains  of  his  ancestors. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  103 

hey  had  arrived  at  the  Newstead  toll  bar, 
and  saw  the  woods  of  the  Abbey  stretching  out 
to  receive  them,  when  Mrs.  Byron,  affecting  to 
be  ignorant  of  the  place,  asked  the  woman  of 
the  toll  house  to  whom  that  seat  belonged? 
She  was  told  that  the  owner  of  it,  Lord  Byron, 
had  been  some  months  dead.  "  And  who  is  the 
next  heir  ?"  asked  the  proud  and  happy  mother. 
"  They  say,"  answered  the  old  woman,  "  it  is  a 
little  boy  who  lives  at  Aberdeen."  "  And  this 
is  he,  bless  him  !"  exclaimed  the  nurse,  no 
longer  able  to  contain  herself,  and  turning  to  kiss 
with  delight  the  young  lord  who  was  seated  on 
her  lap.* 

During  Lord  Byron's  minority,  the  Abbey 
was  let  to  Lord  Grey  de  Ruthen,  but  the  poet 
visited  it  occasionally  during  the  Harrow  vaca 
tions,  when  he  resided  with  his  mother  at  lodg 
ings  in  Nottingham.  It  was  treated  little  better 
by  its  present  tenant,  than  by  the  old  lord  who 
preceded  him,  so  that,  when,  in  the  autumn  of 
1808,  Lord  Byron  took  up  his  abode  there,  it 
was  in  a  ruinous  condition.  The  following  lines 
from  his  own  pen,  may  give  some  idea  of  its 
condition. 

"  Through   thy  battlements,  Newstead,  the  hollow  winds 

whistle, 
Thou,  the  hall  of  my  fathers,  art  gone  to  decay  : 

*  Moore's  Life  of  Lord  Byron. 


104  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

In  thy  once  smiling  garden,  the  hemlock  and  thistle 

Have  choked  up  the  rose  which  once  bloomed  in  the 
way. 

Of  the  mail-covered  barons  who,  proudly,  to  battle 
Led  thy  vassals  from  Europe  to  Palestine's  plain, 

The  escutcheon  and  shield,  which  with  every  wind  rattle, 
Are  the  only  sad  vestiges  now  that  remain."* 

In  another  poem  he  expresses  the  melancholy 
feeling  with  which  he  took  possession  of  his  an 
cestral  mansion. 

"  Newstead  !  what  saddening  scene  of  change  is  thino, 

Thy  yawning  arch  betokens  sure  decay : 
The  last  and  youngest  of  a  noble  line, 

Now  holds  thy  mouldering  turrets  in  his  sway. 

Deserted  now,  he  scans  thy  gray  worn  towers, 
Thy  vaults,  where  dead  of  feudal  ages  sleep, 

Thy  cloisters,  pervious  to  the  wintry  showers, 

These — these  he  views,  and  views  them  but  to  weep. 

Yet  he  prefers  thee  to  the  gilded  domes, 
Or  gewgaw  grottoes  of  the  vainly  great ; 

Yet  lingers  mid  thy  damp  and  mossy  tombs, 

Nor  breathes  a  murmur  'gainst  the  will  of  fate."t 

Lord  Byron  had  not  fortune  sufficient  to  put 
the  pile  in  extensive  repair,  or  to  maintain  any 
thing  like  the  state  of  his  ancestors.  He  restored 
some  of  the  apartments,  so  as  to  furnish  his  mo 
ther  with  a  comfortable  habitation,  and  fitted  up 

*  Lines  on  leaving  Newstead  Abbey. 
t  Elegy  on  Newstead  Abbey, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY  105 

a  quaint  suidy  for  himself,  in  which,  among 
books,  and  busts,  and  other  library  furniture, 
were  two  sculls  of  the  ancient  friars,  grinning 
on  each  side  of  an  antique  cross.  One  of  his  gay 
companions  gives  a  picture  of  Newstead  when 
thus  repaired,  and  the  picture  is  sufficiently 
desolate. 

"  There  are  two  tiers  of  cloisters,  with  a  variety 
of  cells  and  rooms  about  them,  which,  though 
not  inhabited,  nor  in  an  inhabitable  state,  might 
easily  be  made  so ;  and  many  of  the  original 
rooms,  among  which  is  a  fine  stone  hall,  are  still 
in  use.  Of  the  Abbey  church,  one  end  only 
remains  ;  and  the  old  kitchen  with  a  long  range 
of  apartments,  is  reduced  to  a  heap  of  rubbish. 
Leading  from  the  Abbey  to  the  modern  part  of 
the  habitation  is  a  noble  room,  seventy  feet  in 
length  and  twenty-three  in  breadth  ;  but  every 
part  of  the  house  displays  neglect  and  decay, 
save  those  which  the  present  lord  has  lately 
fitted  up."* 

Even  the  repairs  thus  made  were  but  of  tran 
sient  benefit,  for  the  roof  being  left  in  its  dilapi 
dated  state,  the  rain  soon  penetrated  into  the 
apartments  which  Lord  Byron  had  restored  and 
decorated,  and  in  a  few  years  rendered  them 
almost  as  desolate  as  the  rest  of  the  Abbey. 

*  Letter  of  the  late  Charles  Sk'inner  Mathews,  Esq. 


106  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

Still  he  felt  a  pride  in  the  ruinous  old  edifice ; 
its  very  dreary  and  dismantled  state,  addressed 
itself  to  his  poetical  imagination,  and  to  that  love 
of  the  melancholy  and  the  grand  which  is  evinced 
in  all  his  writings.  "  Come  what  may,"  said 
he  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  Newstead  and  I  stand 
or  fall  together.  I  have  now  lived  on  the  spot. 
I  have  fixed  my  heart  upon  it,  and  no  pressure, 
present  or  future,  shall  induce  me  to  barter  the 
last  vestige  of  our  inheritance.  I  have  that 
pride  within  me  which  will  enable  me  to  support 
difficulties  :  could  I  obtain  in  exchange  for  New- 
stead  Abbey,  the  first  fortune  in  the  country, 
I  would  reject  the  proposition." 

His  residence  at  the  Abbey,  however,  was 
fitful  and  uncertain.  He  passed  occasional  por 
tions  of  time  there,  sometimes  studiously  and 
alone,  oftener  idly  and  recklessly,  and  occasion 
ally  with  young  and  gay  companions,  in  riot  and 
revelry,  and  the  indulgence  of  all  kinds  of  mad 
caprice.  The  Abbey  was  by  no  means  benefited 
by  these  roystering  inmates,  who  sometimes 
played  off  monkish  mummeries  about  the  clois 
ters,  at  other  times  turned  the  state  chambers 
into  schools  for  boxing  and  single-stick,  and  shot 

O  O  ' 

pistols  in  the  great  hall.  The  country  people  of 
the  neighbourhood  were  as  much  puzzled  by 
these  madcap  vagaries  of  the  new  incumbent, 
as  by  the  gloomier  habits  of  the  "  old  lord,"  and 


\ 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  107 

began  to  think  that  madness  was  inherent  in  the 
Byron  race,  or  that  some  wayward  star  ruled 
over  the  Abbey. 

It  is  needless  to  enter  into  a  detail  of  the  cir 
cumstances  which  led  his  Lordship  to  sell  his 
ancestral  estate,  notwithstanding  the  partial  pre 
dilections  and  hereditary  feeling  which  he  had 
so  eloquently  expressed.  Fortunately,  it  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  man  who  possessed  something  of 
a  poetical  temperament,  and  who  cherished  an 
enthusiastic  admiration  for  Lord  Byron.  Colo 
nel  (at  that  time  Major)  Wildman  had  been  a 
schoolmate  of  the  poet,  and  sat  with  him  on  the 
same  form  at  Harrow.  He  had  subsequently 
distinguished  himself  in  the  war  of  the  Peninsula, 
and  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  it  was  a  great 
consolation  to  Lord  Byron,  in  parting  with  his 
family  estate,  to  know  that  it  would  be  held  by 
one  capable  of  restoring  its  faded  glories,  and 
who  would  respect  and  preserve  all  the  monu 
ments  and  memorials  of  his  line.* 

*  The  following  letter,  written  in  the  course  of  the  transfer 
of  the  estate,  has  never  been  published  : — 

Venice,  Nov.  18,  1818. 
MY  DEAR  WJLDMAN, 

Mr.  Hanson  is  on  the  eve  of  his  return,  so  that  I  have  only 
time  to  return  a  few  inadequate  thanks  for  your  very  kind 
letter.  I  should  regret  to  trouble  you  with  any  requests  of 
mine,  in  regard  to  the  preservation  of  any  signs  of  my 
family,  which  may  still  exist  at  Newstead,  and  leave  every 


108  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

The  confidence  of  Lord  Byron  in  the  good 
feeling  and  good  taste  of  Colonel  Wildman  has 
been  justified  by  the  event.  Under  his  judicious 
eye  and  munificent  hand  the  venerable  and 
romantic  pile  has  risen  from  its  ruins  in  all  its 
old  monastic  and  baronial  splendour,  and  addi 
tions  have  been  made  to  it  in  perfect  conformity 
of  style.  The  groves  and  forests  have  been 
replanted  ;  the  lakes  and  fish-ponds  cleaned  out, 
and  the  gardens  rescued  from  the  "  hemlock  and 
thistle,"  and  restored  to  their  pristine  and  digni 
fied  formality. 

The  farms  on  the  estate  have  been  put  in 

thing  of  that  kind  to  your  own  feelings,, present  or  future, 
upon  the  subject.  The  portrait  which  you  flatter  me  by 
desiring,  would  not  be  worth  to  you  your  trouble  and  expense 
of  such  an  expedition,  but  you  may  rely  upon  having  the 
very  first  that  may  be  painted,  and  which  may  seem  worth 
your  acceptance. 

I  trust  that  Newstead  will,  being  yours,  remain  so,  and 
that  it  may  see  you  as  happy,  as  I  am  very  sure  that  you  will 
make  your  dependants.  With  regard  to  myself,  you  may  be 
sure  that  whether  in  the  fourth,  or  fifth,  or  sixth  form  at 
Harrow,  or  in  the  fluctuations  of  after  life,  I  shall  always 
remember  with  regard  my  old  school-fellow — fellow  monitor, 
and  friend,  and  recognise  with  respect  the  gallant  soldier, 
who,  with  all  the  advantages  of  fortune  and  allurements  of 
youth  to  a  life  of  pleasure,  devoted  himself  to  duties  of  a 
nobler  order,  and  will  receive  his  reward  in  the  esteem  and 
admiration  of  his  country. 

Ever  yours  most  truly  and  affectionately, 

BYRON. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  109 

complete  order,  new  farm  houses  built  of  stone, 
in  the  picturesque  and  comfortable  style  of  the 
old  English  granges ;  the  hereditary  tenants 
secured  in  their  paternal  homes,  and  treated 
with  the  most  considerate  indulgence ;  every 
thing,  in  a  word,  gives  happy  indications  of  a 
liberal  and  beneficent  landlord. 

What  most,  however,  will  interest  the  visitors 
to  the  Abbey  in  favour  of  its  present  occupant, 
is  the  reverential  care  with  which  he  has  pre 
served  and  renovated  every  monument  and  relic 
of  the  Byron  family,  and- every  object  in  anywise 
connected  with  the  memory  of  the  poet.  Eighty 
thousand  pounds  have  already  been  expended 
upon  the  venerable  pile,  yet  the  work  is  still 
going  on,  and  Newstead  promises  to  realize  the 
hope  faintly  breathed  by  the  poet  when  bidding 
it  a  melancholy  farewell — 

"  Haply  thy  sun  emerging,  yet  may  shine, 

Thee  to  irradiate  with  meridian  ray  ; 
Hours  splendid  as  the  past  may  still  be  thine. 
And  bless  thy  future,  as  thy  former  day." 


10 


110  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


ARRIVAL  AT  THE  ABBEY. 

I  HAD  been  passing  a  merry  christmas  in  the 
good  old  style  at  a  venerable  family  hall  in  Der 
byshire,  and  set  off  to  finish  the  holydays  with 
the  hospitable  proprietor  of  Newstead  Abbey. 
A  drive  of  seventeen  miles  through  a  pleasant 
country,  part  of  it  the  storied  region  of  Sherwood 
Forest,  brought  me  to  the  gate  of  Newstead  park. 
The  aspect  of  the  park  was  by  no  means  impos 
ing,  the  fine  old  trees  that  once  adorned  it  hav 
ing  been  laid  low  by  Lord  Byron's  wayward 
predecessor. 

Entering  the  gate,  the  postchaise  rolled  heavily 
along  a  sandy  road,  between  naked  declivities, 
gradually  descending  into  one  of  those  gentle 
and  sheltered  valleys,  in  which  the  sleek  monks 
of  old  loved  to  nestle  themselves.  Here  a  sweep 
of  the  road  round  an  angle  of  a  garden  wall 
brought  us  full  in  front  of  the  venerable  edifice, 
embosomed  in  the  valley,  with  a  beautiful  sheet 
of  water  spreading  out  before  it. 

The  irregular  gray  pile,  of  motley  architec 
ture,  answered  to  the  description  given  by  Lord 
Byron : 

"  An  old,  old  monastery  once,  and  now 
Still  older  mansion,  of  a  rich  and  rare 
Mixed  Gothic " 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  Ill 

One  end  was  fortified  by  a  castellated  tower, 
bespeaking  the  baronial  and  warlike  days  of  the 
edifice  ;  the  other  end  maintained  its  primitive 
monastic  character.  A  ruined  chapel  flanked 
by  a  solemn  grove,  still  reared  its  front  entire. 
It  is  true,  the  threshold  of  the  once  frequented 
portal  was  grass  grown,  and  the  great  lancet 
window,  once  glorious  with  painted  glass,  was 
now  entwined  and  overhung  with  ivy  ;  but  the 
old  convent  cross  still  braved  both  time  and  tem 
pest  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  chapel,  and  below, 
the  blessed  effigies  of  the  Virgin  and  child,  sculp 
tured  in  gray  stone,  remained  uninjured  in  their 
niche,  giving  a  sanctified  aspect  to  the  pile.* 

A  flight  of  rooks,  tenants  of  the  adjacent  grove, 
were  hovering  about  the  ruin,  and  balancing 
themselves  upon  every  airy  projection,  and  look 
ed  down  with  curious  eye  and  cawed  as  the 
postchaise  rattled  along  below. 

The  chamberlain  of  the  Abbey,  a  most  deco 
rous  personage,  dressed  in  black,  received  us  at 
the  portal.  Here,  too,  we  encountered  a  me 
mento  of  Lord  Byron,  a  great  black  and  white 

*  " in  a  higher  niche,  alone,  but  crowned, 

The  Virgin  Mother  of  the  God-born  child 
With  her  son  in  her  blessed  arms,  looked  round, 

Spar'd  by  some  chance,  when  all  beside  was  spoiled  : 
She  made  the  earth  below  seem  holy  ground," 

DON  JUAN,  Canto  III. 


112  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

Newfoundland  dog,  that  had  accompanied  his 
remains  from  Greece.  He  was  descended  from 
the  famous  Boatswain,  and  inherited  his  gene 
rous  qualities.  He  was  a  cherished  inmate  of 
the  Abbey,  and  honoured  and  caressed  by  every 
visiter.  Conducted  by  the  chamberlain,  and 
followed  by  the  dog,  who  assisted  in  doing  the 
honours  of  the  house,  we  passed  through  a  long 
low  vaulted  hall,  supported  by  massive  gothic 
arches,  and  not  a  little  resembling  the  crypt  of  a 
cathedral,  being  the  basement  story  of  the  Abbey. 
From  this  we  ascended  a  stone  staircase,  at 
the  head  of  which  a  pair  of  folding  doors  admit 
ted  us  into  a  broad  corridor  that  ran  round  the 
interior  of  the  Abbey.  The  windows  of  the 
corridor  looked  into  a  quadrangular  grass  grown 
court,  forming  the  hollow  centre  of  the  pile.  In 
the  midst  of  it  rose  a  lofty  and  fantastic  fountain, 
wrought  of  the  same  gray  stone  as  the  main  edi 
fice,  and  which  has  been  well  described  by  Lord 
Byron. 

"  Amidst  the  court  a  gothic  fountain  play'd, 

Symmetrical,  but  decked  with  carvings  quaint, 

Strange  faces,  like  to  men  in  masquerade, 
And  here  perhaps  a  monster,  there  a  saint  : 

The  spring  rush'd  through  grim  mouths  of  granite  made, 
And  sparkled  into  basins,  where  it  spent 

Its  little  torrent  in  a  thousand  bubbles, 

Like  man's  vain  glory,  and  his  vainer  troubles."* 

*  Don  Juan,  Canto  III. 


NEWSTE AD  ABBEY.  113 

Around  this  quadrangle  were  low  vaulted 
cloisters,  with  gothic  arches,  once  the  secluded 
walks  of  the  monks :  the  corridor  along  which 
we  were  passing  was  built  above  these  cloisters, 
and  their  hollow  arches  seemed  to  reverberate 
every  footfall.  Every  thing  thus  far  had  a  so 
lemn  monastic  air ;  but,  on  arriving  at  an  angle 
of  the  corridor,  the  eye,  glancing  along  a  sha 
dowy  gallery,  caught  a  sight  of  two  dark  figures 
in  plate  armour,  with  closed  visors,  bucklers 
braced,  and  swords  drawn,  standing  motionless 
against  the  wall.  They  seemed  two  phantoms 
of  the  chivalrous  era  of  the  Abbey. 

Here  the  chamberlain,  throwing  open  a  fold 
ing  door,  ushered  us  at  once  into  a  spacious  and 
lofty  saloon,  which  offered  a  brilliant  contrast  to 
the  quaint  and  sombre  apartments  we  had  tra 
versed.  Tt  was  elegantly  furnished,  and  the 
walls  hung  with  paintings,  yet  something  of  its 
original  architecture  had  been  preserved  and 
blended  with  modern  embellishments.  There 
were  the  stone-shafted  casements  and  the  deep 
bow  wfndow  of  former  times.  The  carved  and 
panelled  wood  work  of  the  lofty  ceiling  had 
likewise  been  carefully  restored,  and  its  gothic 
and  grotesque  devices,  painted  and  gilded  in 
their  ancient  style. 

Here,  too,  were  emblems  of  the  former  and  lat 
ter  days  of  the  Abbey,  in  the  effigies  of  the  first 
10* 


114  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

and  last  of  the  Byron  line  that  held  sway  over  its 
destinies.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  saloon,  above 
the  door,  the  dark  Gothic  portrait  of  "  Sir  John 
Byron  the  Little  with  the  great  Beard"  looked 
grimly  down  from  his  canvass,  while,  at  the  op 
posite  end,  a  white  marble  bust  of  the  genius 
loci,  the  noble  poet,  shone  conspicuously  from 
its  pedestal. 

The  whole  air  and  style  of  the  apartment 
partook  more  of  the  palace  than  the  monastery, 
and  its  windows  looked  forth  on  a  suitable  pros 
pect,  composed  of  beautiful  groves,  smooth  ver 
dant  lawns,  and  silver  sheets  of  water.  Below 
the  windows  was  a  small  flower  garden,  enclosed 
by  stone  balustrades,  on  which  were  stately 
peacocks,  sunning  themselves  and  displaying 
their  plumage.  About  the  grass  plots  in  front, 
were  gay  cock  pheasants,  and  plump  partridges, 
and  nimble  footed  water  hens,  feeding  almost  in 
perfect  security. 

Such  was  the  medley  of  objects  presented  to 
the  eye  on  first  visiting  the  Abbey,  and  I  found 
the  interior  fully  to  answer  the  description  of 
the  poet — 

"  The  mansion's  self  was  vast  and  venerable, 
With  more  of  the  monastic  than  has  been 

Elsewhere  preserved ;  the  cloisters  still  were  stable, 
The  cells,  too,  and  refectory  I  ween ; 

An  exquisite  small  chapel  had  been  able, 
Still  unimpaired,  to  decorate  the  scene ; 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  1 15 

The  rest  had  been  reformed,  replaced,  or  sunk, 
And  spoke  more  of  the  friar  than  the  monk. 

Huge  halls,  long  galleries,  spacious  chambers,  joined 
By  no  quite  lawful  marriage  of  the  arts, 

Might  shock  a  connoisseur  ;  but  when  combined 
Formed  a  whole,  which,  irregular  in  parts, 

Yet  left  a  grand  impression  on  the  mind, 

At  least  of  those  whose  eyes  were  in  their  hearts." 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  lay  open  the  scenes 
of  domestic  life  at.  the  Abbey,  or  to  describe  the 
festivities  of  which  I  was  a  partaker  during  my 
sojourn  within  its  hospitable  walls.  I  wish  merely 
to  present  a  picture  of  the  edifice  itself,  and  of 
those  personages  and  circumstances  about  it, 
connected  with  the  memory  of  Byron. 

I  forbear,  therefore,  to  dwell  on  my  reception 
by  my  excellent  and  amiable  host  and  hostess, 
or  to  make  my  reader  acquainted  with  the  ele 
gant  inmates  of  the  mansion  that  I  met  in  the 
saloon  ;  and  I  shall  pass  on  at  once  with  him  to 
the  chamber  allotted  me,  and  to  which  I  was 
most  respectfully  conducted  by  the  chamber 
lain. 

It  was  one  of  a  magnificent  suite  of  rooms, 
extending  between  the  court  of  the  cloisters  and 
the  Abbey  garden,  the  windows  looking  into  the 
latter.  The  whole  suite  formed  the  ancient  state 
apartment,  and  had  fallen  into  decay  during  the 
neglected  days  of  the  Abbey,  so  as  to  be  in  a 


116  NEWSTEAD  ABBE 

ruinous  condition  in  the  time  of  Lord  Byron.  It 
had  since  been  restored  to  its  ancient  splendour, 
of  which  my  chamber  may  be  cited  as  a  speci 
men.  It  was  lofty  and  well  proportioned  ;  the 
lower  part  of  the  walls  was  panelled  with 
ancient  oak,  the  upper  part  hung  with  goblin 
tapestry,  representing  oriental  hunting  scenes, 
wherein  the  figures  were  of  the  size  of  life,  and 
of  great  vivacity  of  attitude  and  colour. 

The  furniture  was  antique,  dignified,  and  cum 
brous.  High  backed  chairs  curiously  carved, 
and  wrought  in  needle-work;  a  massive  clothes- 
press  of  dark  oak,  well  polished,  and  inlaid  with 
landscapes  of  various  tinted  woods;  a  bed  of 
state,  ample  and  lofty,  so  as  only  to  be  ascended 
by  a  moveable  flight  of  steps,  the  huge  posts 
supporting  a  high  tester  with  a  tuft  of  crimson 
plumes  at  each  corner,  and  rich  curtains  of 
crimson  damask  hanging  in  broad  and  heavy 
folds. 

A  venerable  mirror  of  plate  glass  stood  on 
the  toilet,  in  which  belles  of  former  centuries 
may  have  contemplated  and  decorated  their 
charms.  The  floor  of  the  chamber  was  of  tes 
sellated  oak,  shining  with  wax,  and  partly  cover 
ed  by  a  Turkey  carpet.  In  the  centre  stood  a 
massy  oaken  table,  waxed  and  polished  as 
smooth  as  glass,  and  furnished  with  a  writing 
desk  of  perfumed  rose  wood. 


NEWSTE AD  ABBEY.  117 

A  sober  light  was  admitted  into  the  room 
through  gothic  stone  shafted  casements,  partly 
shaded  by  crimson  curtains,  and  partly  over 
shadowed  by  the  trees  of  the  garden.  This 
solemnly  tempered  light  added  to  the  effect  of 
the  stately  and  antiquated  interior. 

Two  portraits,  suspended  over  the  doors,  were 
in  keeping  with  the  scene.  They  were  in  an 
cient  Vandyke  dresses ;  one  was  a  cavalier, 
who  may  have  occupied  this  apartment  in  days 
of  yore,  the  other  was  a  lady  with  a  black  velvet 
mask  in  her  hand,  who  may  once  have  arrayed 
herself  for  conquest  at  the  very  mirror  I  have 
described. 

The  most  curious  relic  of  old  times,  however, 
in  this  quaint  but  richly  dight  apartment,  was  a 
great  chimney-piece  of  panel  work,  carved  in 
high  relief,  with  niches  or  compartments,  ^each 
containing  a  human  bust,  that  protruded  almost 
entirely  from  the  wall.  Some  of  the  figures 
were  in  ancient  gothic  garb ;  the  most  striking 
among  them  was.  a  female,  who  was  earnestly 
regarded  by  a  fierce  Saracen  from  an  adjoining 
niche. 

This  panel  work  is  among  the  mysteries  of  the 
Abbey,  and  causes  as  much  wide  speculation  as 
the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics.  Some  suppose  it 
to  illustrate  an  adventure  in  the  Holy  Land,  and 
that  the  lady  in  effigy  has  been  rescued  by  some 


118  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

crusader  of  the  family  from  the  turbaned  Turk 
who  watches  her  so  earnestly.  What  tends  to 
give  weight  to  these  suppositions  is,  that  similar 
pieces  of  panel  work  exist  in  other  parts  of 
the  Abbey,  in  all  of  which  are  to  be  seen  the 
Christian  lady  and  her  Saracen  guardian  or  lover. 
At  the  bottom  of  these  sculptures  are  emblazon 
ed  the  armorial  bearings  of  the  Byrons. 

I  shall  not  detain  the  reader,  however,  with 
any  further  description  of  my  apartment,  or  of  the 
mysteries  connected  with  it.  As  he  is  to  pass 
some  days  with  me  at  the  Abbey,  we  shall  have 
time  to  examine  the  old  edifice  at  our  leisure, 
and  to  make  ourselves  acquainted,  not  merely 
with  its  interior,  but  likewise  with  its  environs. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  119 


THE  ABBEY  GARDEN. 

THE  morning  after  my  arrival,  I  rose  at  an 
early  hour.  The  daylight  was  peering  brightly 
between  the  window  curtains,  and  drawing  them 
apart,  I  gazed  through  the  gothic  casement  upon 
a  scene  that  accorded  in  character  with  the  in 
terior  of  the  ancient  mansion.  It  was  the  old 
Abbey  garden,  but  altered  to  suit  the  tastes  of 
different  times  and  occupants.  In  one  direction 
were  shady  walks  and  alleys,  broad  terraces 
and  lofty  groves ;  in  another,  beneath  a  gray 
monastic  looking  angle  of  the  edifice,  overrun 
with  ivy  and  surmounted  by  a  cross,  lay  a  small 
French  garden,  with  formal  flower  pots,  gravel 
led  walks,  and  stately  stone  balustrades. 

The  beauty  of  the  morning,  and  the  quiet  of 
the  hour,  tempted  me  to  an  early  stroll ;  for  it 
is  pleasant  to  enjoy  such  old  time  places  alone, 
when  one  may  indulge  poetical  reveries,  and 
spin  cobweb  fancies,  without  interruption.  Dress 
ing  myself,  therefore,  with  all  speed,  I  descended 
a  small  flight  of  steps  from  the  state  apartment 
into  the  long  corridor  over  the  cloisters,  along 


120  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

which  I  passed  to  a  door  at  the  farther  end. 
Here  I  emerged  into  the  open  air,  and,  descend 
ing  another  flight  of  stone  steps,  found  myself  in 
the  centre  of  what  had  once  been  the  Abbey 
chapel. 

Nothing  of  the  sacred  edifice  remained,  how 
ever,  but  the  gothic  front,  with  its  deep  portal 
and  grand  lancet  window,  already  described. 
The  nave,  the  side  walls,  the  choir,  the  sacristy, 
all  had  disappeared.  The  open  sky  was  over 
my  head,  a  smooth  shaven  grass  plot  beneath 
my  feet.  Gravel  walks  and  shrubberies  had 
succeeded  to  the  shadowy  aisles,  and  stately 
trees  to  the  clustering  columns. 

"  Where  now  the  grass  exhales  a  murky  dew, 

The  humid  pall  of  life  extinguished  clay, 
In  sainted  fame  the  sacred  fathers  grew, 

Nor  raised  their  pious  voices  but  to  pray. 
Where  now  the  bats  their  wavering  wings  extend, 

Soon  as  the  gloaming  spreads  her  warning  shade, 
The  choir  did  oft  their  mingling  vespers  blend, 

Or  matin  orisons  to  Mary  paid." 

Instead  of  the  matin  orisons  of  the  monks, 
however,  the  ruined  walls  of  the  chapel  now  re 
sounded  to  the  cawing  of  innumerable  rooks 
that  were  fluttering  and  hovering  about  the  dark 
grove  which  they  inhabited,  and  preparing  for 
their  morning  flight. 

My  ramble  led  me  along  quiet  alleys,  border 
ed  by  shrubbery,  where  the  solitary  water  hen 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  121 

would  now  and  then  scud  across  my  path,  and 
take  refuge  among  the  bushes.  From  hence  I 
entered  upon  a  broad  terraced  walk,  once  a  fa 
vourite  resort  of  the  friars,  which  extended  the 
whole  length  of  the  old  Abbey  garden,  passing 
along  the  ancient  stone  wall  which  bounded  it. 
In  the  centre  of  the  garden  lay  one  of  the 
monkish  fish  pools,  an  oblong  sheet  of  water, 
deep  set  like  a  mirror,  in  green  sloping  banks  of 
turf.  In  its  glassy  bosom  was  reflected  the 
dark  mass  of  a  neighbouring  grove,  one  of  the 
most  important  features  of  the  garden. 

This  grove  goes  by  the  sinister  name  of  "  the 
Devil's  Wood,"  and  enjoys  but  an  equivocal 
character  in  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  planted 
by  "  The  Wicked  Lord  Byron,"  during  the  early 
part  of  his  residence  at  the  Abbey,  before  his  fa 
tal  duel  with  Mr.  Chaworth.  Having  something 
of  a  foreign  and  classical  taste,  he  set  up  leaden 
statues  of  satyrs  or  fawns  at  each  end  of  the 
grove.  These  statues,  like  every  thing  else 
about  the  old  Lord,  fell  under  the  suspicion  and 
obloquy  that  overshadowed  him  in  the  latter  part 
of  his  life.  The  country  people,  who  knew 
nothing  of  heathen  mythology  and  its  sylvan 
deities,  looked  with  horror  at  idols  invested  with 
the  diabolical  attributes  of  horns  and  cloven 
feet.  They  probably  supposed  them  some  ob 
ject  of  secret  worship  of  the  gloomy  and  seclu- 
11 


122  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

ded  misanthrope,  and  reputed  murderer,  and 
gave  them  the  name  of  "  The  old  Lord's  Devils." 

I  penetrated  the  recesses  of  the  mystic  grove. 
There  stood  the  ancie"ht  and  much  slandered 
statues,  overshadowed  by  tall  larches,  and  stain 
ed  by  dank  green  mould.  It  is  not  a  matter  of 
surprise,  that  strange  figures  thus  behoofed  and 
behorned,  and  set  up  in  a  gloomy  grove,  should 
perplex  the  minds  of  the  simple  and  superstitious 
yeomanry.  There  are  many  of  the  tastes  and 
caprices  of  the  rich,  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  un 
educated  must  savour  of  insanity. 

I  was  attracted  to  this  grove,  however,  by 
memorials  of  a  more  touching  character.  It 
had  been  one  of  the  favourite  haunts  of  the  late 
Lord  Byron.  In  his  farewell  visit  to  the  Abbey, 
after  he  had  parted  with  the  possession  of  it,  he 
passed  some  time  in  this  grove,  in  company 
with  his  sister  ;  and  as  a  last  memento,  engraved 
their  names  on  the  bark  of  a  tree. 

The  feelings  that  agitated  his  bosom  during 
this  farewell  visit,  when  he  beheld  round  him 
objects  dear  to  his  pride,  and  dear  to  his  juve 
nile  recollections,  but  of  which  the  narrowness 
of  his  fortune  would  not  permit  him  to  retain 
possession,  may  be  gathered  from  a  passage  in 
a  poetical  epistle,  written  to  his  sister  in  after 
years. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  123 

"  I  did  remind  you  of  our  own  dear  lake 
By  the  old  hall,  which  may  be  mine  no  more; 
Lemans  is  fair  ;  but  think  not  I  forsake 
The  sweet  remembrance  of  a  dearer  shore  : 
Sad  havoc  Time  must  with  my  memory  make 
Ere  that  or  thou  can  fade  these  eyes  before  ; 
Though,  like  all  things  which  I  have  loved,  they  are 
Resigned  for  ever,  or  divided  far. 

I  feel  almost  at  times  as  I  have  felt 

In  happy  childhood  ;  trees,  and  flowers,  and  brooks, 

Which  do  remember  me  of  where  I  dwelt 

Ere  my  young  mind  was  sacrificed  to  books, 

Come  as  of  yore  upon  me,  and  can  melt 

My  heart  with  recognition  of  their  looks  ; 

And  even  at  moments  I  would  think  I  see 

Some  living  things  I  love — but  none  like  thee." 

I  searched  the  grove  for  some  time,  before  I 
found  the  tree  on  which  Lord  Byron  had  left 
his  frail  memorial.  It  was  an  elm  of  peculiar 
form,  having  two  trunks,  which  sprang  from  the 
same  root,  and,  after  growing  side  by  side,  min 
gled  their  branches  together.  He  had  selected 
it,  doubtless,  as  emblematical  of  his  sister  and 
himself.  The  names  of  BYRON  and  AUGUSTA 
were  still  visible.  They  had  been  deeply  cut  in 
the  bark,  but  the  natural  growth  of  the  tree  was 
gradually  rendering  them  illegible,  and  a  few 
years  hence,  strangers  will  seek  in  vain  for  this 
record  of  fraternal  affection. 

Leaving  the  grove,  I  continued  my  ramble 
along  a  spacious  terrace,  overlooking  what  had 


124  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

once  been  the  kitchen  garden  of  the  Abbey. 
Below  me  lay  the  monks'  stew,  or  fish  pond,  a 
dark  pool,  overhung  by  gloomy  cypresses,  with 
a  solitary  water  hen  swimming  about  in  it. 

A  little  further  on,  and  the  terrace  looked 
down  upon  the  stately  scene  on  the  south  side 
of  the  Abbey  ;  the  flower  garden,  with  its  stone 
balustrades  and  stately  peacocks,  the  lawn,  with 
its  pheasants  and  partridges,  and  the  soft  valley 
of  Newstead  beyond. 

At  a  distance,  on  the  border  of  the  lawn,  stood 
another  memento  of  Lord  Byron  ;  an  oak  planted 
by  him  in  his  boyhood,  on  his  first  visit  to  the 
Abbey.  With  a  superstitious  feeling  inherent  in 
him,  he  linked  his  own  destiny  with  that  of  the 
tree.  "  As  it  fares,"  said  he,  "  so  will  fare  my 
fortunes."  Several  years  elapsed,  many  of  them 
passed  in  idleness  and  dissipation.  He  returned 
to  the  Abbey  a  youth  scarce  grown  to  manhood, 
but  as  he  thought  with  vices  and  follies  beyond 
his  years.  He  found  his  emblem  oak  almost 
choked  by  weeds  and  brambles,  and  took  the 
lesson  to  himself. 

"  Young  oak,  when  I  planted  thee  deep  in  the  ground, 

I  hoped  that  thy  days  would  be  longer  than  mine, 
That  thy  dark  waving  branches  would  flourish  around, 
And  ivy  thy  trunk  with  its  mantle  entwine. 

Such,  such  was  my  hope — when  in  infancy's  years 
On  the  land  of  my  fathers  I  reared  thee  with  pride ; 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  125 

They  are  past,  and  I  water  thy  stem  with  my  tears — 
Thy  decay  not  the  weeds  that  surround  thee  can  hide." 

I  leaned  over  the  stone  balustrade  of  the  ter 
race,  and  gazed  upon  the  valley  of  Newstead, 
with  its  silver  sheets  of  water  gleaming  in  the 
morning  sun.  It  was  a  Sabbath  morning, 
which  always  seems  to  have  a  hallowed  in 
fluence  over  the  landscape,  probably  from  the 
quiet  of  the  day,  and  the  cessation  of  all  kinds 
of  week  day  labour.  As  I  mused  upon  the 
mild  and  beautiful  scene,  and  the  wayward  des 
tinies  of  the  man,  whose  stormy  temperament 
forced  him  from  this  tranquil  paradise  to  battle 
with  the  passions  and  perils  of  the  world,  the 
sweet  chime  of  bells  from  a  village  a  few  miles 
distant,  came  stealing  up  the  valley.  Every 
sight  and  sound  this  morning  seemed  calcula 
ted  to  summon  up  touching  recollections  of  poor 
Byron.  The  chime  was  from  the  village  spire 
of  Hucknall  Torkard,  beneath  which  his  remains 
lie  buried  ! 

1  have  since  visited  his  tomb.     It  is 

in  an  old  gray  country  church,  venerable  with 
the  lapse  of  centuries.  He  lies  buried  beneath 
the  pavement,  at  one  end  of  the  principal  aisle. 
A  light  falls  on  the  spot  through  the  stained 
glass  of  a  gothic  window,  and  a  tablet  on  the 
adjacent  wall  announces  the  family  vault  of  the 
Byrons.  It  had  been  the  wayward  intention  of 
11* 


126  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

the  poet  to  be  entombed,  with  his  faithful  dog, 
in  the  monument  erected  by  him  in  the  garden  of 
Newstead  Abbey.  His  executors  showed  better 
judgment  and  feeling,  in  consigning  his  ashes  to 
the  family  sepulchre,  to  mingle  with  those  of  his 
mother  and  his  kindred.  Here, 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well. 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing 
Can  touch  him  further  !" 

How  nearly  did  his  dying  hour  realize  the 
wish  made  by  him,  but  a  few  years  previously  in 
one  of  his  fitful  moods  of  melancholy,  and  mis 
anthropy  : 

"  When  time,  or  soon  or  late,  shall  bring, 

The  dreamless  sleep  that  lulls  the  dead, 
Oblivion!  may  thy  languid  wing 
Wave  gently  o'er  my  dying  bed  ! 

No  band  of  friends  or  heirs  be  there, 
To  weep  or  wish  the  coming  blow : 

No  maiden  with  dishevelled  hair, 
To  feel,  or  feign  decorous  wo. 

But  silent  let  me  sink  to  earth, 

With  no  officious  mourners  near  : 
I  would  not  mar  one  hour  of  mirth, 

Nor  startle  friendship  with  a  fear." 

He  died  among  strangers  ;  in  a  foreign  land, 
without  a  kindred  hand  to  close  his  eyes,  yet  he 
did  not  die  unwept.  With  all  his  faults  and  er 
rors,  and  passions,  and  caprices,  he  had  the  gift 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  127 

of  attaching  his  humble  dependents  warmly  to 
him.  One  of  them,  a  poor  Greek,  accompanied 
his  remains  to  England,  and  followed  them  to 
the  grave.  I  am  told  that,  during  the  ceremony, 
he  stood  holding  on  by  a  pew  in  an  agony  of 
grief,  and  when  all  was  over,  seemed  as  if  he 
would  have  gone  down  into  the  tomb  with  the 
body  of  his  master. — A  nature  that  could  inspire 
such  attachments,  must  have  been  generous  and 
beneficent. 


128  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


PLOUGH  MONDAY. 

SHERWOOD  Forest  is  a  region  that  still  retains 
much  of  the  quaint  customs  and  holyday  games 
of  the  olden  time.  A  day  or  two  after  my  arri 
val  at  the  Abbey,  as  I  was  walking  in  the  clois 
ters,  I  heard  the  sound  of  rustic  music,  and  now 
and  then  a  burst  of  merriment,  proceeding  from 
the  interior  of  the  mansion.  Presently  the  cham 
berlain  came  to  me  and  informed  me  that  a 
party  of  country  lads  were  in  the  servants'  hall, 
performing  Plough  Monday  antics,  and  invited 
me  to  witness  their  mummery.  I  gladly  assent 
ed,  for  I  am  somewhat  curious  about  these  relics 
of  popular  usages.  The  servants'  hall  was  a  fit 
place  for  the  exhibition  of  an  old  gothic  game. 
It  was  a  chamber  of  great  extent,  which,  in 
monkish  times  had  been  the  refectory  of  the 
Abbey.  A  row  of  massive  columns  extended 
lengthwise  through  the  centre,  from  whence 
sprung  gothic  arches,  supporting  the  low  vaulted 
ceiling.  Here  was  a  set  of  rustics  dressed  up 
in  something  of  the  style  represented  in  the 
books,  concerning  popular  antiquities.  One  was 
in  a  rough  garb  of  frieze,  with  his  head  muffled 
in  bearskin,  and  a  bell  dangling  behind  him,  that 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  129 

jingled  at  every  movement.  He  was  the  clown, 
or  fool  of  the  party,  probably  a  traditional  repre 
sentative  of  the  ancient  satyr.  The  rest  were 
decorated  with  ribands  and  armed  with  wooden 
swords.  The  leader  of  the  troop  recited  the 
old  ballad  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  which 
has  been  current  among  the  country  people  for 
ages ;  his  companions  accompanied  the  recita 
tion  with  some  rude  attempt  at  acting,  while  the 
clown  cut  all  kinds  of  antics. 

To  these  succeeded  a  set  of  morrice  dancers, 
gaily  dressed  up  with  ribands  and  hawks'  bells. 
In  this  troop  we  had  Robin  Hood  and  Maid  Ma 
rian,  the  latter  represented  by  a  smooth  faced 
boy :  also,  Belzebub,  equipped  with  a  broom, 
and  accompanied  by  his  wife  Bessy,  a  terma 
gant  old  beldame.  These  rude  pageants  are  the 
lingering  remains  of  the  old  customs  of  Plough 
Monday,  when  bands  of  rustics,  fantastically 
dressed,  and  furnished  with  pipe  and  tabor,  drag 
ged  what  was  called  the  "  fool  plough"  from 
house  to  house,  singing  ballads  and  performing 
antics,  for  which  they  were  rewarded  with  mo 
ney  and  good  cheer. 

But  it  is  not  in  "  merry  Sherwood  Forest" 
alone  that  these  remnants  of  old  times  prevail. 
They  are  to  be  met  with  in  most  of  the  counties 
north  of  the  Trent,  which  classic  stream  seems 
to  be  the  boundary  line  of  primitive  customs. 


130  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

During  my  recent  christmas  sojourn  at  Barlboro' 
Hall,  on  the  skirts  of  Derbyshire  and  Yorkshire, 
I  had  witnessed  many  of  the  rustic  festivities 
peculiar  to  that  joyous  season,  which  have  rashly 
been  pronounced  obsolete,  by  those  who  draw 
their  experience  merely  from  city  life.  I  had 
seen  the  great  Yule  clog  put  on  the  fire  on 
Christmas  Eve,  and  the  wassail  bowl  sent  round, 
brimming  with  its  spicy  beverage.  I  had  heard 
carols  beneath  my  window  by  the  choristers  of 
the  neighbouring  village,  who  went  their  rounds 
about  the  ancient  Hall  at  midnight,  according  to 
immemorial  christmas  custom.  We  had  mum 
mers  and  mimers  too,  with  the  story  of  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon,  and  other  ballads  and 
traditional  dialogues,  together  with  the  famous 
old  interlude  of  the  Hobby  Horse,  all  represent 
ed  in  the  antichamber  and  servants'  hall  by  rus 
tics,  who  inherited  the  custom  and  the  poetry 
from  preceding  generations. 

The  boar's  head,  crowned  with  rosemary7,  had 
taken  its  honoured  station  among  the  christmas 
cheer ;  the  festal  board  had  been  attended  by 
glee  singers  and  minstrels  from  the  village  to 
entertain  the  company  with  hereditary  songs 
and  catches  during  their  repast ;  and  the  old 
Pyrrhic  game  of  the  sword  dance,  handed  down 
since  the  time  of  the  Romans,  was  admirably 
performed  in  the  court  yard  of  the  mansion  by 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  131 

a  band  of  young  men,  lithe  and  supple  in  their 
forms  and  graceful  in  their  movements,  who  I 
was  told  went  the  rounds  of  the  villages  and 
country  seats  during  the  christmas  holydays. 

I  specify  these  rural  pageants  and  ceremoni 
als,  which  I  saw  during  my  sojourn  in  this  neigh 
bourhood,  because  it  has  been  deemed  that  some 
of  the  anecdotes  of  holyday  customs  given  in 
my  preceding  writings,  related  to  usages  which 
have  entirely  passed  away.  Critics  who  reside 
in  cities  have  little  idea  of  the  primitive  manners 
and  observances,  which  still  prevail  in  remote 
and  rural  neighbourhoods. 

In  fact,  in  crossing  the  Trent  one  seems  to 
step  back  into  old  times :  and  in  the  villages  of 
Sherwood  Forest  we  are  in  a  black  letter  re 
gion.  The  moss  green  cottages,  the  lowly  man 
sions  of  gray  stone,  the  gothic  crosses  at  each 
end  of  the  villages,  and  the  tall  May  pole  in  the 
centre,  transport  us  in  imagination  to  foregone 
centuries :  every  thing  has  a  quaint  and  anti 
quated  air. 

The  tenantry  on  the  Abbey  estate  partake  of 
this  primitive  character.  Some  of  the  families 
have  rented  farms  there  for  nearly  three  hundred 
years ;  and,  notwithstanding  that  their  man 
sions  fell  to  decay,  and  every  thing  about  them 
partook  of  the  general  waste  and  misrule  of  the 
Byron  dynasty,  yet  nothing  could  uproot  them 


132  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

from  their  native  soil.  I  am  happy  to  say,  that 
Colonel  Wildman  has  taken  these  staunch  loyal 
families  under  his  peculiar  care.  He  has  favour 
ed  them  in  their  rents,  repaired,  or  rather  rebuilt 
their  farm  houses,  and  has  enabled  families  that 
had  almost  sunk  into  the  class  of  mere  rustic  la 
bourers,  once  more  to  hold  up  their  heads  among 
the  yeomanry  of  the  land. 

I  visited  one  of  these  renovated  establishments 
that  had  but  lately  been  a  mere  ruin,  and  now 
was  a  substantial  grange.  It  was  inhabited  by 
a  young  couple.  The  good  woman  showed 
every  part  of  the  establishment  with  decent 
pride,  exulting  in  its  comfort  and  respectability. 
Her  husband,  I  understood,  had  risen  in  conse 
quence  with  the  improvement  of  his  mansion, 
and  now  began  to  be  known  among  his  rustic 
neighbours  by  the  appellation  of  "the  young 
Squire." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  133 


OLD  SERVANTS. 

[N  an  old,  time-worn,  and  mysterious  looking 
mansion  like  Newtead  Abbey,  and  one  so  haunt 
ed  by  monkish,  and  feudal,  and  poetical  associ 
ations,  it  is  a  prize  to  meet  with  some  ancient 
crone,  who  has  passed  a  long  life  about  the 
place,  so  as  to  have  become  a  living  chronicle 
of  its  fortunes  and  vicissitudes.  Such  a  one  is 
Nanny  Smith,  a  worthy  dame,  near  seventy 
years  of  age,  who  for  a  long  time  served  as 
housekeeper  to  the  Byrons.  The  Abbey  and 
its  domains  comprise  her  world,  beyond  which 
she  knows  nothing,  but  within  which  she  has 
ever  conducted  herself  with  native  shrewdness 
and  old  fashioned  honesty.  When  Lord  Byron 
sold  the  Abbey  her  vocation  was  at  an  end,  yet 
still  she  lingered  about  the  place,  having  for  it 
the  local  attachment  of  a  cat.  Abandoning  her 
comfortable  housekeeper's  apartment,  she  took 
shelter  in  one  of  the  "  rock  houses,"  which  are 
nothing  more  than  a  little  neighbourhood  of 
cabins,  excavated  in  the  perpendicular  walls  of 
a  stone  quarry,  at  no  great  distance  from  the 
Abbey.  Three  cells,  cut  in  the  living  rock, 
formed  her  dwelling ;  these  she  fitted  up  humbly 
12 


134  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

but  comfortably;  her  son  William  laboured  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  aided  to  support  her, 
and  Nanny  Smith  maintained  a  cheerful  aspect 
and  an  independent  spirit.  One  of  her  gossips 
suggested  to  her  that  William  should  marry  and 
bring  home  a  young  wife  to  help  her  and  take 
care  of  her.  "  Nay !  nay,"  replied  Nanny,  tartly, 
" I  want  no  young  mistress  in  my  house"  So 
much  for  the  love  of  rule — poor  Nanny's  house 
was  a  hole  in  a  rock  ! 

Colonel  Wildman,  on  taking  possession  of  the 
Abbey,  found  Nanny  Smith  thus  humbly  nestled. 
With  that  active  benevolence  which  characteri 
zes  him,  he  immediately  set  William  up  in  a 
small  farm  on  the  estate,  where  Nanny  Smith 
has  a  comfortable  mansion  in  her  old  days.  Her 
pride  is  roused  by  her  son's  advancement.  She 
remarks  with  exultation  that  people  treat  Wil 
liam  with  much  more  respect  now  that  he  is  a 
farmer,  than  they  did  when  he  was  a  labourer. 
A  farmer  of  the  neighbourhood  has  even  endea 
voured  to  make  a  match  between  him  and  his 
sister,  but  Nanny  Smith  has  grown  fastidious, 
and  interfered.  The  girl,  she  said,  was  too  old 
for  her  son,  besides,  she  did  not  see  that  he  was 
in  any  need  of  a  wife. 

"  No,"  said  William,  "  I  ha'  no  great  mind  to 
marry  the  wench ;  but  if  the  Colonel  and  his  lady 
wish  it,  I  am  willing.  They  have  been  so  kind 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  135 

to  me  that  I  should  think  it  my  duty  to  please 
them."  The  Colonel  and  his  lady,  however,  have 
not  thought  proper  to  put  honest  William's  gra 
titude  to  so  severe  a  test. 

Another  worthy  whom  Colonel  Wildman  found 
vegetating  upon  the  place,  and  who  had  lived 
there  for  at  least  sixty  years,  \vas  old  Joe  Mur 
ray.  He  had  come  there  when  a  mere  boy  in 
the  train  of  the  "  old  lord,"  about  the  middle  of 
the  last  century,  and  had  continued  with  him 
until  his  death.  Having  been  a  cabin  boy  when 
very  young,  Joe  always  fancied  himself  a  bit  of 
a  sailor,  and  had  charge  of  all  the  pleasure  boats 
on  the  lake,  though  he  afterwards  rose  to  the 
dignity  of  butler.  In  the  latter  days  of  the 
old  Lord  Byron,  when  he  shut  himself  up  from 
all  the  world,  Joe  Murray  was  the  only  servant 
retained  by  him,  excepting  his  housekeeper 
Betty  Hardstaff,  who  was  reputed  to  have  an 
undue  sway  over  him,  and  was  derisively  called 
Lady  Betty  among  the  country  folk. 

When  the  Abbey  came  into  the  possession  of 
the  late  Lord  Byron,  Joe  Murray  accompanied 
it  as  a  fixture.  He  was  reinstated  as  butler  in 
the  Abbey,  and  high  admiral  on  the  lake,  and 
his  sturdy  honest  mastiff  qualities  won  so  upon 
Lord  Byron  as  even  to  rival  his  Newfoundland 
dog  in  his  affections.  Often  when  dining,  he 
would  pour  out  a  bumper  of  choice  Madeira, 


136  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

and  hand  it  to  Joe  as  he  stood  behind  his  chair. 
In  fact,  when  he  built  the  monumental  tomb 
which  stands  in  the  Abbey  garden,  he  intended 
it  for  himself,  Joe  Murray,  and  the  dog.  The 
two  latter  were  to  lie  on  each  side  of  him. 
Boatswain  died  not  long  afterwards,  and  was 
regularly  interred,  and  the  well  known  epitaph 
inscribed  on  one  side  of  the  monument.  Lord 
Byron  departed  for  Greece;  during  his  absence, 
a  gentleman  to  whom  Joe  Murray  was  showing 
the  tomb,  observed,  "  Well,  old  boy,  you  will 
take  your  place  here  some  twenty  years  hence." 

"  I  don't  know  that,  sir,"  growled  Joe,  in 
reply,  "  if  I  was  sure  his  Lordship  would  come 
here,  I  should  like  it  well  enough,  but  I  should 
not  like  to  lie  alone  with  the  dog." 

Joe  Murray  was  always  extremely  neat  in 
his  dress,  and  attentive  to  his  person,  and  made 
a  most  respectable  appearance.  A  portrait  of 
him  still  hangs  in  the  Abbey,  representing  him 
a  hale  fresh  looking  fellow,  in  a  flaxen  wig,  a 
blue  coat  and  buff  waistcoat,  with  a  pipe  in  his 
hand.  He  discharged  all  the  duties  of  his  station 
with  great  fidelity,  unquestionable  honesty,  and 
much  outward  decorum,  but,  if  we  may  believe 
his  contemporary,  Nanny  Smith,  who,  as  house 
keeper,  shared  the  sway  of  the  household  with 
him,  he  was  very  lax  in  his  minor  morals,  and 
used  to  sing  loose  and  profane  songs  as  he  pre- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  1 37 

sided  at  the  table  in  the  servants'  hall,  or  sat 
taking  his  ale  and  smoking  his  pipe  by  the 
evening  fire.  Joe  had  evidently  derived  his 
convivial  notions  from  the  race  of  English  coun 
try  squires  who  flourished  in  the  days  of  his 
juvenility.  Nanny  Smith  was  scandalized  at  his 
ribald  songs,  but  being  above  harm  herself, 
endured  them  in  silence.  At  length,  on  his 
singing  them  before  a  young  girl  of  sixteen,  she 
could  contain  herself  no  longer,  but  read  him 
a  lecture  that  made  his  ears  ring,  and  then 
flounced  off  to  bed.  The  lecture  seems,  by  her 
account,  to  have  staggered  honest  Joe,  for  he 
told  her  the  next  morning  that  he  had  had 
a  terrible  dream  in  the  night.  An  Evangelist 
stood  at  the  foot  of  his  bed  with  a  great  Dutch 
bible,  which  he  held  with  the  printed  part  to 
wards  him,  and  after  a  while  pushed  it  in  his 
face.  Nanny  Smith  undertook  to  interpret  the 
vision,  and  read  from  it  such  a  homily,  and 
deduced  such  awful  warnings,  that  Joe  became 
quite  serious,  left  off  singing,  and  took  to  reading 
good  books  for  a  month  ;  but  after  that,  continu 
ed  Nanny,  he  relapsed  and  became  as  bad  as 
ever,  and  continued  to  sing  loose  and  profane 
songs  to  his  dying  day. 

When  Colonel  Wildman  became  proprietor  of 
the  Abbey  he  found  Joe  Murray  flourishing  in  a 
green  old  age,  though  upwards  of  fourscore,  and 
12* 


138  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

continued  him  in  his  station  as  butler.  The  old 
man  was  rejoiced  at  the  extensive  repairs  that 
were  immediately  commenced,  and  anticipated 
with  pride  the  day  when  the  Abbey  should  rise 
out  of  its  ruins  with  renovated  splendour,  its 
gates  be  thronged  with  trains  and  equipages, 
and  its  halls  once  more  echo  to  the  sound  of 
joyous  hospitality. 

What  chiefly,  however,  concerned  Joe's  pride 
and  ambition,  was  a  plan  of  the  Colonel's  to 
have  the  ancient  refectory  of  the  convent,  a  great 
vaulted  room,  supported  by  gothic  columns,  con 
verted  into  a  servants'  hall.  Here  Joe  looked 
forward  to  rule  the  roast  at  the  head  of  the  ser 
vants'  table,  and  to  make  the  gothic  arches  ring 
with  those  hunting  and  hard  drinking  ditties 
which  were  the  horror  of  the  discreet  Nanny 
Smith.  Time,  however,  was  fast  wearing  away 
with  him,  and  his  great  fear  was  that  the  hall 
would  not  be  completed  in  his  day.  In  his 
eagerness  to  hasten  the  repairs,  he  used  to  get 
up  early  in  the  morning,  and  ring  up  the  work 
men.  Notwithstanding  his  great  age,  also,  he 
would  turn  out  half  dressed  in  cold  weather  to 
cut  sticks  for  the  fire.  Colonel  Wildman  kindly 
remonstrated  with  him  for  thus  risking  his  health, 
as  others  would  do  the  work  for  him. 

"Lord,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  hale  old  fellow, 
"  it's  my  air  bath,  I'm  all  the  better  for  it." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  139 

Unluckily  as  he  was  thus  employed  one  morn 
ing,  a  splinter  flew  up  and  wounded  one  of  his 
eyes.  An  inflammation  took  place  ;  he  lost  the 
sight  of  that  eye,  and  subsequently  of  the  other. 
Poor  Joe  gradually  pined  away,  and  grew  me 
lancholy.  Colonel  Wildman  kindly  tried  to 
cheer  him  up — "  Come,  come,  old  boy,"  cried  he, 
"  be  of  good  heart,  you  will  yet  take  your  place 
in  the  servants'  hall." 

"  Nay,  nay,  sir,"  replied  he,  "  I  did  hope  once 
that  I  should  live  to  see  it — I  looked  forward  to 
it  with  pride,  I  confess,  but  it  is  all  over  with  me 
now — I  shall  soon  go  home  !" 

He  died  shortly  afterwards,  at  the  advanced 
age  of  eighty-six,  seventy  of  which  had  been 
passed  as  an  honest  and  faithful  servant  at  the 
Abbey.  Colonel  Wildman  had  him  decently 
interred  in  the  church  of  Hucknall  Torkard,  near 
the  vault  of  Lord  Byron. 


140  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


SUPERSTITIONS  OF  THE  ABBEY. 

THE  anecdotes  I  had  heard  of  the  quondam 
housekeeper  of  Lord  Byron,  rendered  me  desi 
rous  of  paying  her  a  visit.  I  rode  in  company 
with  Colonel  Wildman,  therefore,  to  the  cottage 
of  her  son  William,  where  she  resides,  and  found 
her  seated  by  her  fireside,  with  a  favourite  cat 
perched  upon  her  shoulder  and  purring  in  her 
ear.  Nanny  Smith  is  a  large  good  looking  wo 
man,  a  specimen  of  the  old  fashioned  country 
housewife,  combining  antiquated  notions  and 
prejudices,  and  very  limited  information,  with 
natural  good  sense.  She  loves  to  gossip  about 
the  Abbey  and  Lord  Byron,  and  was  soon  drawn 
into  a  course  of  anecdotes,  though  mostly  of  an 
humble  kind,  such  as  suited  the  meridian  of  the 
housekeeper's  room  and  servants'  hall.  She 
seemed  to  entertain  a  kind  recollection  of  Lord 
Byron,  though  she  had  evidently  been  much  per 
plexed  by  some  of  his  vagaries  :  and  especially 
by  the  means  he  adopted  to  counteract  his  ten 
dency  to  corpulency.  He  used  various  modes 
to  sweat  himself  down  ;  sometimes  he  would  lie 
for  a  long  time  in  a  warm  bath,  sometimes  he 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  141 

would  walk  up  the  hills  in  the  park,  wrapped  up 
and  loaded  with  great  coats  ;  "  a  sad  toil  for  the 
poor  youth,"  added  Nanny,  "  he  being  so  lame." 

His  meals  were  scanty  and  irregular,  consist 
ing  of  dishes  which  Nanny  seemed  to  hold  in 
great  contempt,  such  as  pilaw,  maccaroni,  and 
light  puddings. 

She  contradicted  the  report  of  the  licentious 
life  which  he  was  reported  to  lead  at  the  Abbey, 
and  of  the  paramours  said  to  have  been  brought 
with  him  from  London.  "  A  great  part  of  his 
time  used  to  be  passed  lying  on  a  sopha  reading. 
Sometimes  he  had  young  gentlemen  of  his  ac 
quaintance  with  him,  and  they  played  some  mad 
pranks  ;  but  nothing  but  what  young  gentlemen 
may  do,  and  no  harm  done." 

"  Once,  it  is  true,"  she  added,  "  he  had  with 
him  a  beautiful  boy  as  a  page,  which  the  house 
maids  said  was  a  girl.  For  my  part,  I  know 
nothing  about  it.  Poor  soul,  he  was  so  lame  he 
could  not  go  out  much  with  the  men ;  all  the 
comfort  he  had  was  to  be  a  little  with  the  lasses. 
The  housemaids,  however,  were  very  jealous ; 
one  of  them,  in  particular,  took  the  matter  in. 
great  dudgeon.  Her  name  was  Lucy  ;  she  was 
a  great  favourite  with  Lord  Byron,  and  had  been 
much  noticed  by  him,  and  began  to  have  high 
notions.  She  had  her  fortune  told  by  a  man 
who  squinted,  to  whom  she  gave  two  and  six- 


142  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

pence.  He  told  her  to  hold  up  her  head  and 
look  high,  for  she  would  come  to  great  things. 
Upon  this,"  added  Nanny, "  the  poor  thing  dreamt 
of  nothing  less  than  becoming  a  lady,  and  mis 
tress  of  the  Abbey  ;  and  promised  me,  if  such 
luck  should  happen  to  her,  she  would  be  a  good 
friend  to  me.  Ah  well-a-day  !  Lucy  never  had 
the  fine  fortune  she  dreamt  of ;  but  she  had  bet 
ter  than  I  thought  for ;  she  is  now  married,  and 
keeps  a  public  house  at  Warwick." 

Finding  that  we  listened  to  her  with  great  at 
tention,  Nanny  Smith  went  on  with  her  gossip 
ing.  "  One  time,"  said  she,  "  Lord  Byron  took 
a  notion  that  there  was  a  deal  of  money  buried 
about  the  Abbey  by  the  monks  in  old  times, 
and  nothing  would  serve  him  but  he  must  have 
the  flagging  taken  up  in  the  cloisters ;  and  they 
digged  and  digged,  but  found  nothing  but  stone 
coffins  full  of  bones.  Then  he  must  needs  have 
one  of  the  coffins  put  in  one  end  of  the  great 
hall,  so  that  the  servants  were  afraid  to  go  there 
of  nights.  Several  of  the  sculls  were  cleaned 
and  put  in  frames  in  his  room.  I  used  to  have 
to  go  into  the  room  at  night  to  shut  the  windows, 
and  if  I  glanced  an  eye  at  them,  they  all  seemed 
to  grin  ;  which  I  believe  sculls  always  do.  I 
can't  say  but  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  room. 

"  There  was  at  one  time  (and  for  that  matter 
there  is  still)  a  good  deal  said  about  ghosts  haunt- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEV._  143 

ing  about  the  Abbey.  The  keeper's  wife  said 
she  saw  two  standing  in  a  dark  part  of  the  clois 
ters  just  opposite  the  chapel,  and  one  in  the  gar 
den,  by  the  lord's  well.  Then  there  was  a  young 
lady,  a  cousin  of  Lord  Byron,  who  was  staying 
in  the  Abbey  and  slept  in  the  room  next  the 
clock  ;  and  she  told  me  that  one  night  when  she 
was  lying  in  bed,  she  saw  a  lady  in  white  come 
out  of  the  wall  on  one  side  of  die  room,  and  go 
into  the  wall  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  Lord  Byron  one  day  said  to  me,  '  Nanny, 
.what  nonsense  they  tell  about  ghosts,  as  if  there 
ever  were  any  such  things.  I  have  never  seen 
any  thing  of  the  kind  about  the  Abbey,  and  I 
warrant  you  have  not.'  This  was  all  done,  do 
you  see,  to  draw  me  out ;  but  I  said  nothing,  but 
shook  my  head.  However,  they  say  his  lordship 
did  once  see  something.  It  was  in  the  great 
hall — something  all  black  and  hairy  :  he  said  it 
was  the  devil. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  Nanny  Smith,  "  I 
never  saw  any  tiling  of  the  kind — but  I  heard 
something  once.  I  was  one  evening  scrubbing 
the  floor  of  the  little  dining  room  at  the  end  of 
the  long  gallery  ;  it  was  after  dark  ;  I  expected 
every  moment  to  be  called  to  tea,  but  wished  to 
finish  what  I  was  about.  All  at  once  I  heard 
heavy  footsteps  in  the  great  hall.  They  sounded 
like  the  tramp  of  a  horse.  I  took  the  light  and 


144  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

went  to  see  what  it  was.  I  heard  the  steps 
come  from  the  lower  end  of  the  hall  to  the  fire 
place  in  the  centre,  where  they  stopped :  but  I 
could  see  nothing.  I  returned  to  my  work,  and 
in  a  little  time  heard  the  same  noise  again.  I 
went  again  with  the  light ;  the  footsteps  stopped 
by  the  fireplace  as  before ;  still  I  could  see  no 
thing.  I  returned  to  my  work,  when  I  heard 
the  steps  for  a  third  time.  I  then  went  into  the 
hall  without  a  light,  but  they  stopped  just  the 
same,  by  the  fireplace  half  way  up  the  hall.  I 
thought  this  rather  odd,  but  returned  to  my  work. 
When  it  was  finished,  I  took  the  light  and  went 
through  the  hall,  as  that  was  my  way  to  the 
kitchen.  I  heard  no  more  footsteps,  and  thought 
no  more  of  the  matter,  when,  on  coming  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  hall,  I  found  the  door  locked, 
and  then  on  one  side  of  the  door,  I  saw  the 
stone  coffin  with  the  scull  and  bones  that  had 
been  digged  up  in  the  cloisters." 

Here  Nanny  paused  :  I  asked  her  if  she  be 
lieved  that  the  mysterious  footsteps  had  any  con 
nexion  with  the  skeleton  in  the  coffin  ;  but  she 
shook  her  head,  and  would  not  commit  herself. 
We  took  our  leave  of  the  good  old  dame  shortly 
after,  and  the  story  she  had  related  gave  subject 
for  conversation  on  our  ride  homeward.  It  was 
evident  she  had  spoken  the  truth  as  to  what  she 
had  heard,  but  had  been  deceived  by  some  pe- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  145 

culiar  effect  of  sound.  Noises  are  propagated 
about  a  huge  irregular  edifice  of  the  kind  in  a 
very  deceptive  manner  ;  footsteps  are  prolonged 
and  reverberated  by  the  vaulted  cloisters  and 
echoing  halls ;  the  creaking  and  slamming  of 
distant  gates,  the  rushing  of  the  blast  through 
the  groves  and  among  the  ruined  arches  of  the 
chapel,  have  all  a  strangely  delusive  effect  at 
night. 

Colonel  Wildman  gave  an  instance  of  the  kind 
from  his  own  experience.  Not  long  after  he 
had  taken  up  his  residence  at  the  Abbey,  he 
heard  one  moonlight  night  a  noise  as  if  a  car 
riage  was  passing  at  a  distance.  He  opened  the 
window  and  leaned  out.  It  then  seemed  as  if 
the  great  iron  roller  was  dragged  along  the  gra 
vel  walks  and  terrace,  but  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen.  When  he  saw  the  gardener  on  the 
following  morning,  he  questioned  him  about 
working  so  late  at  night.  The  gardener  declared 
that  no  one  had  been  at  work,  and  the  roller  was 
chained  up.  He  was  sent  to  examine  it,  and 
came  back  with  a  countenance  full  of  surprise. 
The  roller  had  been  moved  in  the  night,  but  he 
declared  no  mortal  hand  could  have  moved  it. 
"  Well,"  replied  the  Colonel  good  humouredly, 
"  I  am  glad  to  find  I  have  a  brownie  to  work 
for  me." 

Lord  Byron  did  much  to  foster  and  give  cur 
13 


146  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

rency  to  the  superstitious  tales  connected  with 
the  Abbey,  by  believing,  or  pretending  to  believe 
in  them.  Many  have  supposed  that  his  mind 
was  really  tinged  with  superstition,  and  that  this 
innate  infirmity  was  increased  by  passing  much 
of  his  time  in  a  lonely  way,  about  the  empty 
halls  and  cloisters  of  the  Abbey,  then  in  a  ruin 
ous  melancholy  state,  and  brooding  over  the 
sculls  and  effigies  of  its  former  inmates.  I  should 
rather  think  that  he  found  poetical  enjoyment  in 
these  supernatural  themes,  and  that  his  imagina 
tion  delighted  to  people  this  gloomy  and  roman 
tic  pile  with  all  kinds  of  shadowy  inhabitants. 
Certain  it  is,  the  aspect  of  the  mansion  under 
the  varying  influence  of  twilight  and  moonlight, 
and  cloud  and  sunshine  operating  upon  its  halls, 
and  galleries,  and  monkish  cloisters,  is  enough 
to  breed  all  kinds  of  fancies  in  the  minds  of  its 
inmates,  especially  if  poetically  or  stuperstitiously 
inclined. 

I  have  already  mentioned  some  of  the  fabled 
visitants  of  the  Abbey.  The  goblin  friar,  how 
ever,  is  the  one  to  whom  Lord  Byron  has  given 
the  greatest  importance.  It  walked  the  cloisters 
by  night,  and  sometimes  glimpses  of  it  were 
seen  in  other  parts  of  the  Abbey.  Its  appear 
ance  was  said  to  portend  some  impending  evil 
to  the  master  of  the  mansion.  Lord  Byron  pre 
tended  to  have  seen  it  about  a  month  before  he 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  147 

contracted  his  ill-starred  marrage  with  Miss  Mil- 
banke. 

He  has  embodied  this  tradition  in  the  follow 
ing  ballad,  in  which  he  represents  the  friar  as 
one  of  the  ancient  inmates  of  the  Abbey,  main 
taining  by  night  a  kind  of  spectral  possession  of 
it,  in  right  of  the  fraternity.  Other  traditions, 
however,  represent  him  as  one  of  the  friars 
doomed  to  wander  about  the  place  in  atonement 
for  his  crimes.  But  to  the  ballad — 


'  Beware  !  beware !  of  the  Black  Friar, 

Who  sitteth  by  Norman  stone, 
For  he  mutters  his  prayer  in  the  midnight  air, 

And  his  mass  of  the  days  that  are  gone. 
When  the  Lord  of  the  Hill,  Amundeville, 

Made  Norman  Church  his  prey, 
And  expell'd  the  friars,  one  friar  still 

Would  not  be  driven  away. 

Though  he  came  in  his  might,  with  King  Henry's  right, 

To  turn  church  lands  to  lay, 
With  sword  in  hand,  and  torch  to  light 

Their  walls,  if  they  said  nay, 
A  monk  remain'd,  unchased,  unchain'd, 

And  he  did  not  seem  form'd  of  clay, 
For  he's  seen  in  the  porch,  and  he's  seen  in  the  church, 

Though  he  is  not  seen  by  day. 

And  whether  for  good,  or  whether  for  ill, 

It  is  not  mine  to  say ; 
But  still  to  the  house  of  Amundeville 

He  abideth  night  and  day.  ••.:-- 


148  frfiWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

By  the  marriage  bod  of  their  lords,  'tis  said, 

He  flits  on  the  bridal  eve  ; 
And 'tis  held  as  faith,  to  their  bed  of  death, 

He  conies — but  not  to  grieve. 

When  an  heir  is  born,  he  is  heard  to  mourn, 

And  when  aught  is  to  befall 
That  ancient  line,  in  the  pale  moonshine 

He  walks,  from  hall  to  hall. 
His  form  you  may  trace,  but  not  .his  face, 

'Tis  shadow'd  by  his  cowl ; 
But  his  eyes  may  be  seen  from  the  folds  between, 

And  they  seem  of  a  parted  soul. 

But  beware  !  beware  of  the  Black  Friar, 

He  still  retains  his  sway, 
For  he  is  yet  the  church's  heir, 

Whoever  may  be  the  lay. 
Amundeville  is  lord  by  day, 

But  the  monk  is  lord  by  night, 
Nor  wine  nor  wassail  could  raise  a  vassal 

To  question  that  friar's  right. 

Say  nought  to  him  as  he  walks  the  hall, 

And  he'll  say  nought  to  you  ; 
He  sweeps  along  in  his  dusky  pall, 

As  o'er  the  grass  the  dew. 
Then  gramercy  !  for  the  Black  Friar ; 

Heaven  sain  him  !  fair  or  foul, 
And  whatsoe'er  may  be  his  prayer 

Let  ours  be  for  his  soul." 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  goblin  friar,  which, 
partly  through  old  tradition,  and  partly  through 
the  influence  of  Lord  Byron's  rhymes,  has  be 
come  completely  established  in  the  Abbey,  and 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  149 

threatens  to  hold  possession  as  long  as  the  old 
edifice  shall  endure.  Various  visiters  have 
either  fancied,  or  pretended  to  have  seen  him, 
and  a  cousin  of  Lord  Byron,  Miss  Sally  Parkins, 
is  even  said  to  have  made  a  sketch  of  him  from 
memory.  As  to  the  servants  at  the  Abbey,  they 
have  become  possessed  with  all  kinds  of  super 
stitious  fancies.  The  long  corridors  and  gothic 
halls,  with  their  ancient  portraits  and  dark  figures 
in  armour,  are  all  haunted  regions  to  them ;  they 
even  fear  to  sleep  alone,  and  will  scarce  venture 
at  night  on  any  distant  errand  about  the  Abbey 
unless  they  go  in  couples. 

Even  the  magnificent  chamber  in  which  I 
was  lodged  was  subject  to  the  supernatural  in 
fluences  which  reigned  over  the  Abbey,  and 
was  said  to  be  haunted  by  "  Sir  John  Byron  the 
Little  with  the  great  Beard."  The  ancient  black 
looking  portrait  of  this  family  worthy,  which 
hangs  over  the  door  of  the  great  saloon,  was 
said  to  descend  occasionally  at  midnight  from 
the  frame,  and  walk  the  rounds  of  the  state 
apartments.  Nay,  his  visitations  were  not  con 
fined  to  the  night,  for  a  young  lady,  on  a  visit  to 
the  Abbey  some  years  since,  declared  that,  on 
passing  in  broad  day  by  the  door  of  the  identi 
cal  chamber  I  have  described,  which  stood  partly 
open,  she  saw  Sir  John  Byron  the  Little  seat 
ed  by  the  fireplace,  reading  out  of  a  great 
13* 


150  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

black  letter  book.  From  this  circumstance 
some  have  been  led  to  suppose  that  the  story  of 
Sir  John  Byron  may  be  in  some  measure  con 
nected  with  the  mysterious  sculptures  of  the 
chimney  piece  already  mentioned;  but  this  has 
no  countenance  from  the  most  authentic  anti 
quarians  of  the  Abbey. 

For  my  own  part,  the  moment  I  learned  the 
wonderful  stories  and  strange  suppositions  con 
nected  with  my  apartment,  it  became  an  imagi 
nary  realm  to  me.  As  I  lay  in  bed  at  night  and 
gazed  at  the  mysterious  panel  work,  where  gothic 
knight,  and  Christian  dame,  and  Paynim  lover 
gazed  upon  me  in  effigy,  I  used  to  weave  a  thou 
sand  fancies  concerning  them.  The  great  figures 
in  the  tapestry,  also,  were  almost  animated  by 
the  workings  of  my  imagination,  and  the  Van 
dyke  portraits  of  the  cavalier  and  lady  that 
looked  down  with  pale  aspects  from  the  wall, 
had  almost  a  spectral  effect,  from  their  immove- 
able  gaze  and  silent  companionship — 

"For  by  dim  lights  the  portraits  of  the  dead 
Have  something  ghastly,  desolate,  and  dread. 

Their  buried  looks  still  wave 

Along  the  canvass  ;  their  eyes  glance  like  dreams 

On  ours,  as  spars  within  some  dusky  cave, 
But  death  is  mingled  in  their  shadowy  beams." 

In  this  way  I  used  to  conjure  up  fictions  of  the 
brain,  and  clothe  the  objects  around  me  with 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  151 

ideal  interest  and  import,  until,  as  the  Abbey 
clock  tolled  midnight,  I  almost  looked  to  see  Sir 
John  Byron  the  Little  with  the  long  Beard  stalk 
into  the  room  with  his  book  under  his  arm,  and 
take  his  seat  beside  the  mysterious  chimney 
piece. 


152  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


ANNESLEY  HALL. 

AT  about  three  miles  distance  from  Newstead 
Abbey,  and  contiguous  to  its  lands,  is  situated 
Annesley  Hall,  the  old  family  mansion  of  the  Cha- 
worths.  The  families,  like  the  estates,  of  the 
Byrons  and  Chaworths,  were  connected  in  for 
mer  times,  until  the  fatal  duel  between  their  two 
representatives.  The  feud,  however,  which  pre 
vailed  for  a  time,  premised  to  be  cancelled  by 
the  attachment  of  two  youthful  hearts.  While 
Lord  Byron  was  yet  a  boy,  he  beheld  Mary  Ann 
Chaworth,  a  beautiful  girl,  and  the  sole  heiress 
of  Annesley.  With  that  susceptibility  to  female 
charms,  which  he  evinced  almost  from  child 
hood,  he  became  almost  immediately  enamoured 
of  her.  According  to  one  of  his  biographers  it 
would  appear  that  at  first  their  attachment  was 
mutual,  yet  clandestine.  The  father  of  Miss 
Chaworth  was  then  living,  and  may  have  retain 
ed  somewhat  of  the  family  hostility,  for  we  are 
told  that  the  interviews  of  Lord  Byron  and  the 
young  lady  were  private,  at  a  gate  which  opened 
from  her  father's  grounds  to  those  of  Newstead 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  153 

However,  they  were  so  young  at  the  time  that 
these  meetings  could  not  have  been  regarded  as 
of  any  importance :  they  were  little  more  than 
children  in  years;  but  as  Lord  Byron  says  of 
himself,  his  feelings  were  beyond  his  age. 

The  passion  thus  early  conceived  was  blown 
into  a  flame,  during  a  six  weeks'  vacation  which 
he  passed  with  his  mother  at  Nottingham.  The 
father  of  Miss  Chaworth  was  dead,  and  she  resi 
ded  with  her  mother  at  the  old  Hall  of  Annesley. 
During  Byron's  minority,  the  estate  of  Newstead 
was  let  to  Lord  Grey  de  Ruthen,  but  its  youth 
ful  Lord  was  always  a  welcome  guest  at  the 
Abbey.  He  would  pass  days  at  a  time  there, 
and  from  thence  make  frequent  visits  to  Annes 
ley  Hall.  His  visits  were  encouraged  by  Miss 
Chaworth's  mother;  she  partook  none  of  the 
family  feud,  and  probably  looked  with  compla 
cency  upon  an  attachment  that  might  heal  old 
differences  and  unite  two  neighbouring  estates. 

The  six  weeks'  vacation  passed  as  a  dream 
amongst  the  beautiful  bowers  of  Annesley.  Byron 
was  scarce  fifteen  years  of  age,  Mary  Chaworth 
was  two  years  older;  but  his  heart,  as  I  have 
said,  was  beyond  his  age,  and  his  tenderness  for 
her  Was  deep  and  passionate.  These  early  loves, 
like  the  first  run  of  the  uncrushed  grape,  are  the 
sweetest  and  strongest  gushings  of  the  heart,  and 
however  they  may  be  superseded  by  other  at- 


154  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

tachments  in  after  years,  the  memory  will  con 
tinually  recur  to  them,  and  fondly  dwell  upon 
their  recollections. 

His  love  for  Miss  Chaworth,  to  use  Lord 
Byron's  own  expression,  was  "  the  romance  of 
the  most  romantic  period  of  his  life,"  and  I  think 
we  can  trace  the  effect  of  it  throughout  the 
whole  course  of  his  writings,  coming  up  every 
now  and  then,  like  some  lurking  theme  that  runs 
through  a  complicated  piece  of  music,  and  links 
it  all  in  a  pervading  chain  of  melody. 

How  tenderly  and  mournfully  does  he  recall 
in  after  years,  the  feelings  awakened  in  his  youth 
ful  and  inexperienced  bosom, by  this  impassioned, 
yet  innocent  attachment ;  feelings,  he  says,  lost 
or  hardened  in  the  intercourse  of  life : 

"  The  love  of  better  things  and  better  days ; 

The  unbounded  hope,  and  heavenly  ignorance 
Of  what  is  called  the  world,  and  the  world's  ways  ; 

The  moments  when  we  gather  from  a  glance 
More  joy  than  from  all  future  pride  or  praise, 

Which  kindle  manhood,  but  can  ne'er  entrance 
The  heart  in  an  existence  of  its  own, 
Of  which  another's  bosom  is  the  zone." 

Whether  this  love  was  really  responded  to  by 
the  object,  is  uncertain.  Byron  sometimes  speaks 
as  if  he  had  met  with  kindness  in  return,  at  other 
times  he  acknowledges  that  she  never  gave  him 
reason  to  believe  she  loved  him.  It  is  probable, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  155 

however,  that  at  first  she  experienced  some 
flutterings  of  the  heart.  She  was  at  a  suscepti 
ble  age  ;  had  as  yet  formed  no  other  attach 
ments  ;  her  lover,  though  boyish  in  years,  was  a 
man  in  intellect,  a  poet  in  imagination,  and  had 
a  countenance  of  remarkable  beauty. 

With  the  six  weeks'  vacation  ended  this  brief 
romance.  Byron  returned  to  school  deeply 
enamoured,  but  if  he  had  really  made  any  im 
pression  on  Miss  Chaworth's  heart,  it  was  too 
slight  to  stand  the  test  of  absence.  She  was  at 
that  age  when  a  female  soon  changes  from  the 
girl  to  the  woman,  and  leaves  her  boyish  lovers 
far  behind  her.  While  Byron  was  pursuing  his 
school-boy  studies,  she  was  mingling  with  soci 
ety,  and  met  with  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of 
Musters,  remarkable,  it  is  said,  for  manly  beauty. 
A  story  is  told  of  her  having  first  seen  him  from 
the  top  of  Annesley  Hall,  as  he  dashed  through 
the  park,  with  hound  and  horn,  taking  the  lead 
of  the  whole  field  in  a  fox  chase,  and  that  she 
was  struck  by  the  spirit  of  his  appearance,  and 
his  admirable  horsemanship.  Under  such  favour 
able  auspices,  he  wooed  and  won  her,  and  when 
Lord  Byron  next  met  her,  he  learned  to  his  dis 
may  that  she  was  the  affianced  bride  of  another. 

With  that  pride  of  spirit  which  always  distin 
guished  him,  he  controlled  his  feelings  and  main 
tained  a  serene  countenance.  He  even  affected 


156  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

to  speak  calmly  on  the  subject  of  her  approach 
ing  nuptials.  "  The  next  time  I  see  you,"  said 
he,  "  I  suppose  you  will  be  Mrs.  Chaworth,"  (for 
she  was  to  retain  her  family  name.)  Her  reply 
was,  "  I  hope  so." 

I  have  given  these  brief  details  preparatory 
to  a  sketch  of  a  visit  which  I  made  to  the  scene 
of  this  youthful  romance.  Annesley  Hall  I  un 
derstood  was  shut  up,  neglected,  and  almost  in 
a  state  of  desolation ;  for  Mr.  Musters  rarely 
visited  it,  residing  with  his  family  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  Nottingham.  I  set  out  for  the  Hall 
on  horseback,  in  company  with  Colonel  Wild- 
man,  and  followed  by  the  great  Newfoundland 
dog  Boatswain.  In  the  course  of  our  ride  we 
visited  a  spot  memorable  in  the  love  story  I  have 
cited.  It  was  the  scene  of  this  parting  interview 
between  Byron  and  Miss  Chaworth,  prior  to  her 
marriage.  A  long  ridge  of  upland  advances  into 
the  valley  of  Newstead,  like  a  promontory  into 
a  lake,  and  was  formerly  crowned  by  a  beautiful 
grove,  a  landmark  to  the  neighbouring  country. 
The  grove  and  promontory  are  graphically  de 
scribed  by  Lord  Byron  in  his  "  Dream,"  and  an 
exquisite  picture  given  of  himself,  and  the  lovely 
object  of  his  boyish  idolatry — 

"  I  saw  two  beings  in  the  hues  of  youth 
Standing  upon  a  hill,  a  gentle  hill, 
Green,  and  of  mild  declivity,  the  last 
As  'twere  the  cape  of  a  long  ridge  of  such, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  157 

Save  that  there  was  no  sea  to  lave  its  base, 
But  a  most  living  landscape,  and  the  wave 
Of  woods  and  corn  fields,  and  the  abodes  of  men, 
Scatter'd  at  intervals,  and  wreathing  smoke 
Arising  from  such  rustic  roofs ; — the  hill 
Was  crown'd  with  a  peculiar  diadem 
Of  trees,  in  circular  array,  so  fixed, 
Not  by  the  sport  of  nature,  but  of  man  : 
These  two,  a  maiden  and  a  youth,  were  there 
Gazing — the  one  on  all  that  was  beneath 
Fair  as  herself — but  the  boy  gazed  on  her  ; 
And  both  were  fair,  and  one  was  beautiful : 
And  both  were  young — yet  not  alike  in  youth. 
As  the  sweet  moon  in  the  horizon's  verge,    . 
The  maid  was  on  the  verge  of  womanhood  ; 
The  boy  had  fewer  summers,  but  his  heart 
Had  far  outgrown  his  years,  and  to  his  eye 
There  was  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth, 
And  that  was  shining  on  him." 

I  stood  upon  the  spot  consecrated  by  this  me 
morable  interview.  Below  me  extended  the 
"  living  landscape,"  once  contemplated  by  the 
loving  pair;  the  gentle  valley  of  Newstead,  di 
versified  by  woods  and  corn  fields,  and  village 
spires,  and  gleams  of  water,  and  the  distant 
towns  and  pinnacles  of  the  venerable  Abbey. 
The  diadem  of  trees,  however,  was  gone.  The 
attention  drawn  to  it  by  the  poet,  and  the  roman 
tic  manner  in  which  he  had  associated  it  with 
his  early  passion  for  Mary  Chaworth,  had  net 
tled  the  irritable  feelings  of  her  husband,  who 
but  ill  brooked  the  poetic  celebrity  conferred  on 
14 


158  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

his  wife  by  the  enamoured  verses  of  another 
The  celebrated  grove  stood  on  his  estate,  and  in 
a  fit  of  spleen  he  ordered  it  to  be  levelled  with 
the  dust.  At  the  time  of  my  visit  the  mere  roots 
of  the  trees  were  visible ;  but  the  hand  that  laid 
them  low  is  execrated  by  every  poetical  pil 
grim. 

Descending  the  hill,  we  soon  entered  a  part 
of  what  once  was  Annesley  Park,  and  rode 
among  time-worn  and  tempest-riven  oaks  and 
elms,  with  ivy  clambering  about  their  trunks, 
and  rooks'  nests  among  their  branches.  The 
park  had  been  cut  up  by  a  post  road,  crossing 
which,  we  came  to  the  gate  house  of  Annesley 
Hall.  It  was  an  old  brick  building  that  might 
have  served  as  an  outpost  or  barbacan  to  the 
hall  during  the  civil  wars,  when  every  gentle 
man's  'house  was  liable  to  become  a  fortress. 
Loopholes  were  still  visible  in  its  walls,  but  the 
peaceful  ivy  had  mantled  the  sides,  overrun  the 
roof,  and  almost  buried  the  ancient  clock  in 
front,  that  still  marked  the  waning  hours  of  its 
decay. 

An  arched  way  led  through  the  centre  of  the 
gate  house,  secured  by  grated  doors  of  open 
iron  work,  wrought  into  flowers  and  flourishes. 
These  being  thrown  open,  we  entered  a  paved 
court  yard,  decorated  with  shrubs  and  antique 
flower  pots,  with  a  ruined  stone  fountain  in 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  159 

the  centre.  The  whole  approach  resembled 
that  of  an  old  French  chateau. 

On  one  side  of  the  court  yard  was  a  range  of 
stables,  now  tenantless,  but  which  bore  traces 
of  the  fox  hunting  squire ;  for  there  were  stalls 
boxed  up,  into  which  the  hunters  might  be 
turned  loose  when  they  came  home  from  the 
chase. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  court,  and  immedi 
ately  opposite  the  gate  house,  extended  the  hall 
itself;  a  rambling,  irregular  pile,  patched  and 
pieced  at  various  times,  and  in  various  tastes, 
with  gable  ends,  stone  balustrades,  and  enormous 
chimneys,  that  strutted  out  like  buttresses  from 
the  walls.  The  whole  front  of  the  edifice  was 
overrun  with  evergreens. 

We  applied  for  admission  at  the  front  door, 
which  was  under  a  heavy  porch.  The  portal 
was  strongly  barricadoed,  and  our  knocking  was 
echoed  by  waste  and  empty  halls.  Everything 
bore  an  appearance  of  abandonment.  After  a 
time,  however,  our  knocking  summoned  a  soli 
tary  tenant  from  some  remote  corner  of  the  pile. 
It  was  a  decent  looking  little  dame,  who  emerged 
from  a  side  door  at  a  distance,  and  seemed  a 
worthy  inmate  of  the  antiquated  mansion.  She 
had,  in  fact,  grown  old  with  it.  Her  name,  she 
said,  was  Nanny  Marsden;  if  she  lived  until  next 
August,  she  would  be  seventy-one  :  a  great  part 


160  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

of  her  life  had  been  passed  in  the  Hall,  and  when 
the  family  had  removed  to  Nottingham,  she  had 
been  left  in  charge  of  it.  The  front  of  the  house 
had  been  thus  warily  barricadoed  in  consequence 
of  the  late  riots  at  Nottingham ;  in  the  course  of 
which,  the  dwelling  of  her  master  had  been 
sacked  by  the  mob.  To  guard  against  any 
attempt  of  the  kind  upon  the  Hall,  she  had  put 
it  in  this  state  of  defence  ;  though  I  rather  think 
she,  and  a  superannuated  gardener  comprised 
the  whole  garrison.  "  You  must  be  attached  to 
the  old  building,"  said  I,  "after  having  lived  so 
long  in  it."  "  Ah,  sir !"  replied  she,  "  I  am 
getting  in  years,  and  have  a  furnished  cottage 
of  my  own  in  Annesley  Wood,  and  begin  to  feel 
as  if  I  should  like  to  go  and  live  in  my  own 
home." 

Guided  by  the  worthy  little  custodian  of  the 
fortress,  we  entered  through  the  sally  port  by 
which  she  had  issued  forth,  and  soon  found  our 
selves  in  a  spacious,  but  somewhat  gloomy  hall, 
where  the  light  wras  partially  admitted  through 
square  stone-shafted  windows,  overhung  with 
ivy.  Every  thing  around  us  had  the  air  of  an 
old  fashioned  country  squire's  establishment.  In 
the  centre  of  the  hall  was  a  billiard  table,  and 
about  the  walls  were  hung  portraits  of  race 
horses,  hunters,  and  favourite  dogs,  mingled 
indiscriminately  with  family  pictures. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  161 

Staircases  led  up  from  the  Hall  to  various  • 
apartments.  In  one  of  the  rooms  we  were  shown 
a  couple  of  buff  jerkens,  and  a  pair  of  ancient 
jack  boots,  of  the  time  of  the  cavaliers ;  relics 
which  are  often  to  be  met  with  in  the  old  English 
family  mansions.  These,  however,  had  peculiar 
value,  for  the  good  little  dame  assured  us  they 
had  belonged  to  Robin  Hood.  As  we  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  region  over  which  that  famous  out 
law  once  bore  ruffian  sway,  it  was  not  for  us  to 
gainsay  his  claim  to  any  of  these  venerable 
relics,  though  we  might  have  demurred  that  the 
articles  of  dress  here  shown  were  of  a  date 
much  later  than  his  time.  Every  antiquity, 
however,  about  Sherwood  Forest  is  apt  to  be 
linked  with  the  memory  of  Robin  Hood  and  his 
gang. 

As  we  were  strolling  about  the  mansion,  our 
four-footed  attendant,  Boatswain,  followed  lei 
surely,  as  if  taking  a  survey  of  the  premises.  I 
turned  to  rebuke  him  for  his  intrusion,  but  the 
moment  the  old  housekeeper  understood  he  had 
belonged  to  Lord  Byron,  her  heart  seemed  to 
yearn  towards  him. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  exclaimed  she,  "  let  him  alone, 
let  him  go  where  he  pleases.  He's  welcome. 
Ah,  dear  me  !  If  he  lived  here  I  should  take  great 
care  of  him — he  should  want  for  nothing. — . 
Well !"  continued  she,  fondling  him,  "  who  would 
14* 


162  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

have  thought  that  I  should  see  a  dog  of  Lord 
Byron  in  Annesley  Hall?" 

"I  suppose,  then,"  said  I,  "you  recollect  some 
thing  of  Lord  Byron,  when  he  used  to  visit 
here?"  "  Ah,  bless  him  !"  cried  she,  "  that  I  do ! 
He  used  to  ride  over  here  and  stay  three  days  at 
a  time,  and  sleep  in  the  blue  room.  Ah  !  poor 
fellow  !  He  was  very  much  taken  with  my  young 
mistress  ;  he  used  to  walk  about  the  garden  and 
the  terraces  with  her,  and  seemed  to  love  the 
very  ground  she  trod  on.  He  used  to  call  her 
his  bright  morning  star  of  Annesley" 

I  felt  the  beautiful  poetic  phrase  thrill  through 
me. 

"You  appear  to  like  the  memory  of  Lord 
Byron,"  said  I. 

"Ah  sir!  why  should  not  I  ?  He  was  always 
main  good  to  me  when  he  came  here.  Well ! 
well!  they  say  it  is  a  pity  he  and  my  young 
lady  did  not  make  a  match.  Her  mother  would 
have  liked  it.  He  was  always  a  welcome  guest, 
and  some  think  it  would  have  been  well  for  him 
to  have  had  her ;  but  it  was  not  to  be  !  He 
went  away  to  school,  and  then  Mr.  Musters 
saw  her,  and  so  things  took  their  course." 

The  simple  soul  now  showed  us  into  the 
favourite  sitting  room  of  Miss  Chaworth,  with  a 
small  flower  garden  under  the  windows,  in  which 
she  had  delighted.  In  this  room  Byron  used  to 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  163 

sit  and  listen  to  her  as  she  played  and  sang, 
gazing  upon  her  with  the  passionate,  and  almost 
painful  devotion  of  a  love-sick  stripling.  He 
himself  gives  us  a  glowing  picture  of  his  mute 
idolatry : 

i 

"  He  had  no  breath,  no  being,  but  in  hers  ; 
She  was  his  voice  ;  he  did  not  speak  to  her, 
But  trembled  on  her  words  ;  she  was  his  sight, 
For  his  eye  followed  hers,  and  saw  with  hers, 
Which  coloured  all  his  objects  ; — he  had  ceased 
To  live  within  himself;  she  was  his  life, 
The  ocean  to  the  river  of  his  thoughts, 
Which  terminated  all ;  upon  a  tone, 
A  touch  of  hers,  his  blood  would  ebb  and  flow, 
And  his  cheek  change  tempestuously — his  heart 
Unknowing  of  its  cause  of  agony." 

There  was  a  little  Welsh  air,  called  Mary 
Ann,  which,  from  bearing  her  own  name,  he 
associated  with  herself,  and  often  persuaded  her 
to  sing  it  over  and  over  for  him. 

The  chamber,  like  all  the  other  parts  of  the 
house,  had  a  look  of  sadness  and  neglect ;  the 
flower  plots  beneath  the  window,  which  once 
bloomed  beneath  the  hand  of  Mary  Chaworth, 
were  overrun  with  weeds  ;  and  the  piano,  which 
had  once  vibrated  to  her  touch,  and  thrilled  the 
heart  of  her  stripling  lover,  was  now  unstrung 
and  out  of  tune. 

We  continued  our  stroll  about  the  waste  apart 
ments,  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  and  without  much 


164  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

elegance  of  decoration.  Some  of  them  were 
hung  with  family  portraits,  among  which  was 
pointed  out  that  of  the  Mr.  Chaworth  who  was 
killed  by  the  "  wicked  Lord  Byron." 

These  dismal  looking  portraits  had  a  powerful 
effect  upon  the  imagination  of  the  stripling  poet, 
on  his  first  visit  to  the  Hall.  As  they  gazed 
down  from  the  wall  he  thought  they  scowled 
upon  him,  as  if  they  had  taken  a  grudge  against 
him  on  account  of  the  duel  of  his  ancestor.  He 
even  gave  this  as  a  reason,  though  probably  in 
jest,  for  not  sleeping  at  the  Hall,  declaring  that 
he  feared  they  would  come  down  from  their 
frames  at  night  to  haunt  him. 

A  feeling  of  the  kind  he  has  embodied  in  one 
of  his  stanzas  of  Don  Juan : 

"  The  forms  of  the  grim  knights  and  pictured  saints 
Look  living  -in  the  moon  ;   and  as  you  turn 

Backward  and  forward  to  the  echoes  faint 
Of  your  own  footsteps — voices  from  the  urn 

Appear  to  wake,  and  shadows  wild  and  quaint 

Start  from  the  frames  which  fence  their  aspects  stern, 

As  if  to  ask  you  how  you  dare  to  keep 

A  vigil  there,  where  all  but  death  should  sleep." 

Nor  was  the  youthful  poet  singular  in  these 
fancies  ;  the  Hall,  like  most  old  English  man 
sions  that  have  ancient  family  portraits  hanging 
about  their  dusky  galleries  and  waste  apart 
ments,  had  its  ghost  story  connected  with  these 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  165 

pale  memorials  of  the  dead.  Our  simple  hearted 
conductor  stopped  before  the  portrait  of  a  lady, 
who  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  time,  and  inhabit 
ed  the  Hall  in  the  heyday  of  her  charms. 
Something  mysterious  or  melancholy  was  con 
nected  with  her  story;  she  died  young,  but 
continued  for  a  long  time  to  haunt  the  ancient 
mansion,  to  the  great  dismay  of  the  servants, 
and  the  occasional  disquiet  of  the  visiters,  and 
it  was  with  much  difficulty  her  troubled  spirit 
was  conjured  down  and  put  to  rest. 

From  the  rear  of  the  Hall  we  walked  out  into 
the  garden,  about  which  Byron  used  to  stroll  and 
loiter  in  company  with  Miss  Chaworth.  It  was 
laid  out  in  the  old  French  style.  There  was  a 
long  terraced  walk,  with  heavy  stone  balustrades 
and  sculptured  urns,  overrun  with  ivy  and  ever 
greens.  A  neglected  shrubbery  bordered  one 
side  of  the  terrace,  with  a  lofty  grove  inhabited 
by  a  venerable  community  of  rooks.  Great 
flights  of  steps  led  down  from  the  terrace  to  a 
flower  garden,  laid  out  in  formal  plots.  The  rear 
of  the  Hall,  which  overlooked  the  garden,  had 
the  weather  stains  of  centuries,  and  its  stone- 
shafted  casements,  and  an  ancient  sun  dial 
against  its  walls,  carried  back  the  mind  to  days 
of  yore. 

The  retired  and  quiet  garden,  once  a  little 
sequestered  world  of  love  and  romance,  was 


166  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

now  all  matted  and  wild,  yet  was  beautiful  even 
in  its  decay.  Its  air  of  neglect  and  desolation 
was  in  unison  with  the  fortune  of  the  two  beings 
who  had  once  walked  here  in  the  freshness  of 
youth,  and  life,  and  beauty.  The  garden,  like 
their  young  hearts,  had  gone  to  waste  and  ruin. 
Returning  to  the  Hall  we  now  visited  a 
chamber  built  over  the  porch,  or  grand  entrance: 
it  was  in  a  ruinous  condition  ;  the  ceiling  having 
fallen  in,  and  the  floor  given  way.  This,  how 
ever,  is  a  chamber  rendered  interesting  by 
poetical  associations.  It  is  supposed  to  be  the 
oratory  alluded  to  by  Lord  Byron  in  his  Dream, 
wherein  he  pictures  his  departure  from  Annes- 
ley,  after  learning  that  Mary  Chaworth  was 
engaged  to  be  married — 

"There  was  an  ancient  mansion,  and  before 
Its  walls  there  was  a  steed  caparison'd  : 
Within  an  antique  Oratory  stood 
The  Boy  of  whom  I  spake ; — he  was  alone, 
And  pale  and  pacing  to  and  fro :  anon 
He  sate  him  down,  and  seized  a  pen,  and  traced 
Words  which  I  could  not  guess  of;  then  he  lean'd 
His  bow'd  head  on  his  hands,  and  shook  as  'twere 
With  a  convulsion — then  arose  again, 
And  with  his  teeth  and  quivering  hands  did  tear 
What  he  had  written,  but  he  shed  no  tears. 
And  he  did  calm  himself,  and  fix  his  brow 
Into  a  kind  of  quiet:  as  he  paused, 
The  lady  of  his  love  re-entered  there  ; 
She  was  serene  and  smiling  then,  and  yet 
She  knew  she  was  by  him  beloved, — she  knew, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  167 

For  quickly  comes  such  knowledge,  that  his  heart 

Was  darken'd  with  her  shadow,  and  she  saw 

That  he  was  wretched,  but  she  saw  not  all. 

He  rose,  and  with  a  cold  and  gentle  grasp 

He  took  her  hand  ;  a  moment  o'er  his  face 

A  tablet  of  unutterable  thoughts 

Was  traced,  and  then  it  faded  as  it  came  ; 

He  dropp'd  the  hand  he  held,  and  with  slow  steps 

Return'd,  but  not  as  bidding  her  adieu, 

For  they  did  part  with  mutual  smiles : — he  pass'd 

From  out  the  massy  gate  of  that  old  Hall, 

And  mounting  on  his  steed  he  went  his  way, 

And  ne'er  repass'd  that  hoary  threshold  more." 

In  one  of  his  journals,  Lord  Byron  describes 
his  feelings  after  thus  leaving  the  oratory.  Arri 
ving  on  the  summit  of  a  hill,  which  commanded 
the  last  view  of  Annesley,  he  checked  his  horse 
and  gazed  back  with  mingled  pain  and  fondness 
upon  the  groves  which  embowered  the  Hall,  and 
thought  upon  the  lovely  being  that  dwelt  there, 
until  his  feelings  were  quite  dissolved  in  ten 
derness.  The  conviction  at  length  recurred 
that  she  never  could  be  his,  when,  rousing  him 
self  from  his  reverie,  he  stuck  his  spurs  into  his 
steed  and  dashed  forward,  as  if  by  rapid  motion 
to  leave  reflection  behind  him. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  what  he  asserts  in  the 
verses  last  quoted,  he  did  pass  the  "hoary  thresh 
old"  of  Annesley  again.  It  was,  however,  after 
the  lapse  of  several  years,  during  which  he  had 
grown  up  to  manhood,  had  passed  through  the 


168  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

ordeal  of  pleasures  and  tumultuous  passions,  and 
had  felt  the  influence  of  other  charms.  Miss 
Chaworth,  too,  had  become  a  wife  and  a  mother, 
and  he  dined  at  Annesley  Hall  at  the  invitation 
of  her  husband.  He  thus  met  the  object  of  his 
early  idolatry  in  the  very  scene  of  his  tender 
devotions,  which,  as  he  says,  her  smiles  had 
once  made  a  heaven  to  him.  The  scene  was 
but  little  changed.  He  was  in  the  very  chamber 
where  he  had  so  often  listened  entranced  to  the 
witchery  of  her  voice  ;  there  were  the  same  in 
struments  and  music ;  there  lay  her  flower  garden 
beneath  the  window,  and  the  walks  through  which 
he  had  wandered  with  her  in  the  intoxication  of 
youthful  love.  Can  we  wonder  that  amidst  the 
tender  recollections  which  every  object  around 
him  was  calculated  to  awaken,  the  fond  passion 
of  his  boyhood  should  rush  back  in  full  current 
to  his  heart.  He  was  himself  surprised  at  this 
sudden  revulsion  of  his  feelings,  but  he  had 
acquired  self  possession  and  could  command 
them.  His  firmness  however  was  doomed  to 
undergo  a  further  trial.  While  seated  by  the 
object  of  his  secret  devotion,  with  all  these  re 
collections  throbbing  in  his  bosom,  her  infant 
daughter  was  brought  into  the  room.  At  sight 
of  the  child  he  started ;  it  dispelled  the  last  lin- 
gerings  of  his  Dream,  and  he  afterwards  confess 
ed,  that  to  repress  his  emotion  at  the  moment, 
was  the  severest  part  of  his  task. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  169 

The  conflict  of  feelings  that  raged  within  his 
bosom  throughout  this  fond  and  tender,  yet  pain 
ful  and  embarrassing  visit,  are  touchingly  depicted 
in  lines  which  he  wrote  immediately  afterwards, 
and  which,  though  not  addressed  to  her  by 
name,  are  evidently  intended  for  the  eye  and 
the  heart  of  the  fair  lady  of  Annesley — 

"  Well !  thou  art  happy,  and  I  feel 

That  I  should  thus  be  happy  too  ; 
For  still  my  heart  regards  thy  weal 
Warmly,  as  it  was  wont  to  do. 

Thy  husband's  blest — and  'twill  impart 
Some  pangs  to  view  his  happier  lot : 

But  let  them  pass — Oh  !  how  my  heart 
Would  hate  him,  if  he  loved  thee  not ! 

When  late  I  saw  thy  favourite  child 

I  thought  my  jealous  heart  would  break ; 

But  when  the  unconscious  infant  smiled, 
I  kiss'd  it  for  its  mother's  sake. 

I  kiss'd  it,  and  repress'd  my  sighs 

Its  father  in  its  face  to  see ; 
But  then  it  had  its  mother's  eyes, 

And  they  were  all  to  love  and  me. 

Mary,  adieu  !  I  must  away : 
While  thou  art  blest  I'll  not  repine  ; 

But  near  thee  I  can  never  stay ; 

My  heart  would  soon  again  be  thine. 

I  deem'd  that  time,  I  deem'd  that  pride 
Had  quench'd  at  length  my  boyish  flame ; 

Nor  knew,  till  seated  by  thy  side, 
My  heart  in  all,  save  love,  the  same. 
15 


170  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

Yet  I  was  calm  :  I  knew  the  time 

My  breast  would  thrill  before  thy  look  ; 

But  now  to  tremble  were  a  crime — 
We  met,  and  not  a  nerve  was  shook. 

I  saw  thee  gaze  upon  my  face, 

Yet  meet  with  no  confusion  there : 

One  only  feeling  could'st  thou  trace ; 
The  sullen  calmness  of  despair. 

Away  !  away !  my  early  dream 

Remembrance  never  must  awake  : 
Oh  !  where  is  Lethe's  flabled  stream  ? 

My  foolish  heart,  be  still,  or  break." 

The  revival  of  this  early  passion,  and  the 
melancholy  associations  which  it  spread  over 
those  scenes  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Newstead, 
which  would  necessarily  be  the  places  of  his 
frequent  resort  while  in  England,  are  alluded  to 
by  him  as  a  principal  cause  of  his  first  departure 
for  the  Continent — 

"  When  man  expell'd  from  Eden's  bowers 

A  monent  lingered  near  the  gate, 
Each  scene  recalled  the  vanish'd  hours, 
And  bade  him  curse  his  future  fate. 

But  wandering  on  through  distant  climes, 
He  learnt  to  bear  his  load  of  grief; 

Just  gave  a  sigh  to  other  times, 
And  found  in  busier  scenes  relief. 

Thus  Mary  must  it  be  with  me, 

And  I  must  view  thy  charms  no  more ; 

For,  while  I  linger  near  to  thee, 
I  sigh  for  all  I  knew  before." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  171 

It  was  in  the  subsequent  June  that  he  set  off 
on  his  pilgrimage  by  sea  and  land,  which  was  to 
become  the  theme  of  his  immortal  poem.  That 
the  image  of  Mary  Chaworth,  as  he  saw  and 
loved  her  in  the  days  of  his  boyhood,  followed 
him  to  the  very  shore,  is  shown  in  the  glowing 
stanzas  addressed  to  her  on  the  eve  of  embarca- 
tion — 

"  'Tis  done — and  shivering  in  the  gale 
The  bark  unfurls  her  snowy  sail ; 
And  whistling  o'er  the  bending  mast, 
Loud  sings  on  high  the  fresh'ning  blast;    ' 
And  I  must  from  this  land  be  gone, 
Because  I  cannot  love  but  one. 

And  I  will  cross  the  whitening  foam, 
And  I  will  seek  a  foreign  home ; 
Till  I  forget  a  false  fair  face, 
I  ne'er  shall  find  a  resting  place ; 
My  own  dark  thoughts  I  cannot  shun, 
But  ever  love,  and  love  but  one. 

To  think  of  every  early  scene, 

Of  what  we  are,  and  what  we've  been, 

Would  whelm  some  softer  hearts  with  wo — 

But  mine,  alas !  has  stood  the  blow ; 

Yet  still  beats  on  as  it  begun, 

And  never  truly  loves  but  one. 

And  who  that  dear  loved  one  may  be 
Is  not  for  vulgar  eyes  to  see, 
And  why  that  early  love  was  cross'd, 
Thou  know'st  the  best,  I  feel  the  most ; 
But  few  that  dwell  beneath  the  sun 
Have  loved  so  long,  and  loved  but  one. 


172  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

I've  tried  another's  fetters  too, 
With  charms,  perchance,  as  fair  to  view; 
And  I  would  fain  have  loved  as  well, 
But  some  unconquerable  spell 
Forbade  my  bleeding  breast  to  own 
A  kindred  care  for  aught  but  one. 

'Twould  soothe  to  take  one  lingering  view, 
And  bless  thee  in  my  last  adieu ; 
Yet  wish  I  not  those  eyes  to  weep 
For  him  that  wanders  o'er  the  deep; 
His  home,  his  hope,  his  youth  are  gone, 
Yet  still  he  loves,  and  loves  but  one." 

The  painful  interview  at  Annesley  Hall  which 
revived  with  such  intenseness  his  early  passion, 
remained  stamped  upon  his  memory  with  singular 
force,  and  seems  to  have  survived  all  his  "  wan 
dering  through  distant  climes,"  to  which  he  trusted 
as  an  oblivious  antidote.  Upwards  of  two  years 
after  the  event,  when,  having  made  his  famous 
pilgrimage,  he  was  once  more  an  inmate  of 
Newstead  Abbey ;  his  vicinity  to  Annesley  Hall 
brought  the  whole  scene  vividly  before  him,  and 
he  thus  recalls  it  in  a  poetic  epistle  to  a  friend — 

"I've  seen  my  bride  another's  bride, — 
Have  seen  her  seated  by  his  side, — 
Have  seen  the  infant  which  she  bore, 
Wear  the  sweet  smile  the  mother  wore, 
When  she  and  I  in  youth  have  smiled 
As  fond  and  faultless  as  her  child  : — • 
Have  seen  her  eyes,  in  cold  disdain, 
Ask  if  I  fplt  no  secret  pain, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  173 

And  I  have  acted  well  my  part, 
And  made  my  cheek  belie  my  heart, 
Return'd  the  freezing  glance  she  gave, 
Yet  felt  the  while  that  woman's  slave ; — 
Have  kiss'd,  as  if  without  design, 
The  babe  which  ought  to  have  been  mine, 
And  show'd,  alas  !  in  each  caress, 
Time  had  not  made  me  love  the  less." 

"  It  was  about  the  time,"  says  Moore  in  his 
life  of  Lord  Byron,  "  when  he  was  thus  bitterly 
feeling  and  expressing  the  blight  which  his  heart 
had  suffered  from  a  real  object  of  affection,  that 
his  poems  on  an  imaginary  one,  '  Thyrza,'  were 
written."  He  was  at  the  same  time  grieving 
over  the  loss  of  several  of  his  earliest  and  dear 
est  friends,  the  companions  of  his  joyous  school 
boy  hours.  To  recur  to  the  beautiful  language  of 
Moore,  who  writes  with  the  kindred  and  kindling 
sympathies  of  a  true  poet :  "  All  these  recollec 
tions  of  the  young  and  the  dead  mingled  them 
selves  in  his  mind  with  the  image  of  her,  who, 
though  living,  was,  for  him,  as  much  lost  as  they, 
and  diffused  that  general  feeling  of  sadness  and 
fondness  through  his  soul,  which  found  a  vent  in 
these  poems.  *  *  *  It  was  the  blending  of 
the  two  affections,  in  his  memory  and  imagina 
tion,  that  gave  birth  to  an  ideal  object  combining 
the  best  features  of  both,  and  drew  from  him 
those  saddest  and  tenderest  of  love  poems,  in 
which  we  find  all  the  depth  and  intensity  of  real 
15* 


174  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

feeling  touched  over  with  such  a  light  as  no 
reality  ever  wore." 

An  early,  innocent,  and  unfortunate  passion, 
however  fruitful  of  pain  it  may  be  to  the  man, 
is  a  lasting  advantage  to  the  poet.  It  is  a  well 
of  sweet  and  bitter  fancies ;  of  refined  and 
gentle  sentiments ;  of  elevated  and  ennobling 
thoughts  ;  shut  up  in  the  deep  recesses  of  the 
heart,  keeping  it  green  amidst  the  withering 
blights  of  the  world,  and,  by  its  casual  gushes  and 
overflowings,  recalling  at  times  all  the  freshness, 
and  innocence,  and  enthusiasm  of  youthful  days. 
Lord  Byron  was  conscious  of  this  effect,  and 
purposely  cherished  and  brooded  over  the  remem 
brance  of  his  early  passion,  and  of  all  the  scenes 
of  Annesley  Hall  connected  with  it.  It  was  this 
remembrance  that  attuned  his  mind  to  some  of 
its  most  elevated  and  virtuous  strains,  and  shed 
an  inexpressible  grace  and  pathos  over  his  best 
productions. 

Being  thus  put  upon  the  traces  of  this  little 
love  story,  I  cannot  refrain  from  threading  them 
out,  as  they  appear  from  time  to  time  in  various 
passages  of  Lord  Byron's  works.  During  his 
subsequent  rambles  in  the  East,  when  time  and 
distance  had  softened  away  his  "  early  romance" 
almost  into  the  remembrance  of  a  pleasing  and 
tender  dream,  he  received  accounts  of  the  object 
of  it,  which  represented  her,  still  in  her  paternal 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  175 

Hall,  among  her  native  bowers  of  Annesley, 
surrounded  by  a  blooming  and  beautiful  family, 
yet  a  prey  to  secret  and  withering  melancholy — 

"  In  her  home, 

A  thousand  leagues  from  his, — her  native  home, 

She  dwelt,  begirt  with  growing  infancy, 

Daughters  and  sons  of  beauty,  but — behold ! 

Upon  her  face  there  was  the  tint  of  grief, 

The  settled  shadow  of  an  inward  strife, 

And  an  unquiet  drooping  of  the  eye, 

As  if  its  lids  were  charged  with  unshed  tears." 

For  an  instant  the  buried  tenderness  of  early 
youth  and  the  fluttering  hopes  which  accompa 
nied  it,  seem  to  have  revived  in  his  bosom,  and 
the  idea  to  have  flashed  upon  his  mind  that  his 
image  might  be  connected  with  her  secret 
woes — but  he  rejected  the  thought  almost  as 
soon  as  formed. 

"  What  could  her  grief  be  ? — she  had  all  she  loved, 
And  he  who  had  so  loved  her  was  not  there 
To  trouble  with  bad  hopes,  or  evil  wish, 
Or  ill  repress'd  affliction,  her  pure  thoughts. 
What  could  her  grief  be  ? — she  had  loved  him  not, 
Nor  given  him  cause  to  deem  himself  beloved, 
Nor  could  he  be  a  part  of  that  which  prey'd 
Upon  her  mind — a  spectre  of  the  past." 

The  cause  of  her  grief  was  a  matter  of  rural 
comment  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Newstead  and 
Annesley.  It  was  disconnected  from  all  idea 
of  Lord  Byron,  but  attributed  to  the  harsh  and 


176  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

capricious  conduct  of  one  to  whose  kindness  and 
affection  she  had  a  sacred  claim.  The  domestic 
sorrows  which  had  long  preyed  in  secret  on  her 
heart,  at  length  affected  -her  intellect,  and  the 
"  bright  morning  ?tar  of  Annesley"  was  eclipsed 
for  ever. 

"  The  lady  of  his  love, — ah  !  she  was  changed 
As  by  the  sickness  of  the  soul ;  her  mind 
Had  wandered  from  its  dwelli  ag,  and  her  eyes, 
They  had  not  their  own  lustre,  but  the  look 
Which  is  not  of  the  earth;  she  was  become 
The  queen  of  a  fantastic  realm  :  but  her  thoughts 
Were  combinations  of  disjointed  things  ; 
And  forms  impalpable  and  unperceived 
Of  others'  sight,  familiar  were  to  hers. 
And  this  the  world  calls  frenzy." 

Notwithstanding  lapse  of  time,  change  of  place, 
and  a  succession  of  splendid  and  spirit-stirring 
scenes  in  various  countries,  the  quiet  and  gentle 
scene  of  his  boyish  love  seems  to  have  held  a 
magic  sway  over  the  recollections  of  Lord  By 
ron,  and  the  image  of  Mary  Chaworth  to  have 
unexpectedly  obtruded  itself  upon  his  mind  like 
some  supernatural  visitation.  Such  was  the  fact 
on  the  occasion  of  his  marriage  with  Miss  Mil- 
banke ;  Annesley  Hall  and  all  its  fond  associa 
tions  floated  like  a  vision  before  his  thoughts, 
even  when  at  the  altar,  and  on  the  point  of  pro 
nouncing  the  nuptial  vows.  The  circumstance 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  177 

is  related  by  him  with  a  force  and  feeling  that 
persuade  us  of  its  truth. 

"A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream. 
The  wanderer  was  return'd. — I  saw  him  stand 
Before  an  altar — with  a  gentle  bride ; 
Her  face  was  fair,  but  was  not  that  which  made 
The  star-light  of  his  boyhood  ; — as  he  stood 
Even  at  the  altar,  o'er  his  brow  there  came 
The  self  same  aspect,  and  the  quivering  shock 
That  in  the  antique  oratory  shook 
His  bosom  in  its  solitude  ;  and  then — 
As  in  that  hour — a  moment  o'er  his  face 
The  tablet  of  unutterable  thoughts 
Was  traced, — and  then  it  faded  as  it  came, 
And  he  stood  calm  and  quiet,  and  he  spoke 
The  fitting  vows,  but  heard  not  his  own  words, 
And  all  things  reel'd  around  him  :  he  could  see 
Not  that  which  was,  nor  that  which  should  have  been— 
But  the  old  mansion,  and  the  accustomed  hall, 
And  the  remember'd  chambers,  and  the  place, 
The  day,  the  hour,  the  sunshine,  and  the  shade, 
All  things  pertaining  to  that  place  and  hour, 
And  her  who  was  his  destiny,  came  back, 
And  thrust  themselves  between  him  and  the  light : 
What  business  had  they  there  at  such  a  time  ?" 

The  history  of  Lord  Byron's  union  is  too  well 
known  to  need  narration.  The  errors,  and  hu 
miliations,  and  heart-burnings  that  followed  upon 
it,  gave  additional  effect  to  the  remembrance  of 
his  early  passion,  and  tormented  him  with  the 
idea,  that  had  he  been  successful  in  his  suit  to 
the  lovely  heiress  of  Annesley,  they  might  both 


178  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

have  shared  a  happier  destiny.  In  one  of  his 
manuscripts,  written  long  after  his  marriage, 
having  accidentally  mentioned  Miss  Chaworth 
as  "  my  M.  A.  C."  "  Alas  !"  exclaims  he,  with 
a  sudden  burst  of  feeling,  "  why  do  I  say  my  ? 
Our  union  would  have  healed  feuds  in  which 
blood  had  been  shed  by  our  fathers ;  it  would 
have  joined  lands  broad  and  rich  ;  it  would  have 
joined  at  least  one  heart,  and  two  persons  not  ill 
matched  in  years — and — and — and — what  has 
been  the  result !" 

But  enough  of  Annesley  Hall  and  the  poetical 
themes  connected  with  it.  I  felt  as  if  I  could 
linger  for  hours  about  its  ruined  oratory,  and 
silent  hall,  and  neglected  garden,  and  spin  reve 
ries  and  dream  dreams,  until  all  became  an  ideal 
world  around  me.  The  day,  however,  was  fast 
declining,  and  the  shadows  of  evening  throwing 
deeper  shades  of  melancholy  about  the  place. 
Taking  our  leave  of  the  worthy  old  housekeeper, 
therefore,  with  a  small  compensation  and  many 
thanks  for  her  civilities,  we  mounted  our  horses 
and  pursued  our  way  back  to  Newstead  Abbey. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  179 


THE  LAKE. 

"  BEFORE  the  mansion  lay  a  lucid  lake, 

Broad  as  transparent,  deep,  and  freshly  fed 

By  a  river,  which  its  softened  way  did  take 
In  currents  through  the  calmer  water  spread 

Around :  the  wild  fowl  nestled  in  the  brake 
And  sedges,  brooding  in  their  liquid  bed : 

The  woods  sloped  downward  to  its  brink,  and  stood 

With  their  green  faces  fixed  upon  the  flood." 

Such  is  Lord  Byron's  description  of  one  of  a 
series  of  beautiful  sheets  of  water,  formed  in  old 
times  by  the  monks  by  damming  up  the  course 
of  a  small  river.  Here  he  used  daily  to  enjoy 
his  favourite  recreations  of  swimming  and  sail 
ing.  The  "  wicked  old  Lord,"  in  his  scheme  of 
rural  devastation,  had  cut  down  all  the  woods 
that  once  fringed  the  lake ;  Lord  Byron,  on 
coming  of  age,  endeavoured  to  restore  them,  and 
a  beautiful  young  wood,  planted  by  him,  now 
sweeps  up  from  the  water's  edge,  and  clothes 
the  hill  side  opposite  to  the  Abbey.  To  this 
woody  nook  Colonel  Wildman  has  given  the  ap 
propriate  title  of  "  the  Poet's  Corner." 

The  lake  has  inherited  its  share  of  the  tradi 
tions  and  fables  connected  with  every  thing  in 


180  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

and  about  the  Abbey.  It  was  a  petty  Mediter 
ranean  sea  on  which  the  "  wicked  old  Lord" 
used  to  gratify  his  nautical  tastes  and  humours. 
He  had  his  mimic  castles  and  fortresses  along 
its  shores,  and  his  mimic  fleets  upon  its  waters, 
and  used  to  get  up  mimic  seafights.  The  re 
mains  of  his  petty  fortifications  still  awaken  the 
curious  inquiries  of  visitors.  In  one  of  his  vaga 
ries,  he  caused  a  large  vessel  to  be  brought  on 
wheels  from  the  sea  coast  and  launched  in  the 
lake.  The  country  people  were  surprised  to  see 
a  ship  thus  sailing  over  dry  land.  They  called 
to  mind  a  saying  of  Mother  Shipton,  the  famous 
prophet  of  the  vulgar,  that  whenever  a  ship 
freighted  with  ling  should  cross  Sherwood  Fo 
rest,  Newstead  would  pass  out  of  the  Byron 
family.  The  country  people,  who  detested  the 
old  Lord,  were  anxious  to  verify  the  prophecy. 
Ling,  in  the  dialect  of  Nottingham,  is  the  name 
for  heather ;  with  this  plant  they  heaped  the 
fated  bark  as  it  passed,  so  that  it  arrived  full 
freighted  at  Newstead. 

The  most  important  stories  about  the  lake, 
however,  relate  to  the  treasures  that  are  suppo 
sed  to  lie  buried  in  its  bosom.  These  may  have 
taken  their  origin  in  a  fact  which  actually  occur 
red.  There  was  one  time  fished  up  from  the 
deep  part  of  the  lake  a  great  eagle  of  molten 
brass,  with  expanded  wings,  standing  on  a  pe- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  181 

destal  or  perch  of 'the  same  metal.  It  had  doubt 
less  served  as  a  stand  or  reading  desk,  in  the 
Abbey  chapel,  to  hold  a  folio  bible  or  missal. 

The  sacred  relic  was  sent  to  a  brasier  to  be 
cleaned.  As  he  was  at  work  upon  it,  he  disco 
vered  that  the  pedestal  was  hollow  and  compo 
sed  of  several  pieces.  Unscrewing  these,  he 
drew  forth  a  number  of  parchment  deeds  and 
grants  appertaining  to  the  Abbey,  and  bearing 
the  seals  of  Edward  III.  and  Henry  VIII.,  which 
had  thus  been  concealed,  and  ultimately  sunk  in 
the  lake  by  the  friars,  to  substantiate  their  right 
and  title  to  these  domains  at  some  future  day. 

One  of  the  parchment  scrolls  thus  discovered, 
throws  rather  an  awkward  light  upon  the  kind 
of  life  led  by  the  friars  of  Newstead.  It  is  an 
indulgence  granted  to  them  for  a  certain  number 
of  months,  in  which  plenary  pardon  is  assured 
in  advance  for  all  kinds  of  crimes,  among  which, 
several  of  the  most  gross  and  sensual  are  speci 
fically  mentioned. 

After  inspecting  these  testimonials  of  monk 
ish  life,  in  the  regions  of  Sherwood  Forest,  we 
cease  to  wonder  at  the  virtuous  indignation  of 
Robin  Hood  and  his  outlaw  crew,  at  the  sleek 
sensualists  of  the  cloister  : 

"  I  never  hurt  the  husbandman, 
That  use  to  till  the  ground, 
Nor  spill  their  blood  that  range  the  wood 
To  follow  hawk  and  hound. 
16 


182  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

My  chiefest  spite  to  clergy  is, 

Who  in  these  days  bear  sway ; 
With  friars  and  monks  with  their  fine  spunks, 

I  make  my  chiefest  prey." 

OLD  BALLAD  OF  ROBIN  HOOD. 

The  brazen  eagle  has  been  transferred  to  the 
parochial  and  collegiate  church  of  Southall,  about 
twenty  miles  from  Newstead,  where  it  may  still 
be  seen  in  the  centre  of  the  chancel,  supporting, 
as  of  yore,  a  ponderous  bible.  As  to  the  docu 
ments  it  contained,  they  are  carefully  treasured 
up  by  Colonel  Wildman  among  his  other  deeds 
and  papers,  in  an  iron  chest  secured  by  a  patent 
lock  of  nine  bolts,  almost  equal  to  a  magic  spell. 

The  fishing  up  of  this  brazen  relic,  as  I  have 
already  hinted,  has  given  rise  to  tales  of  treasure 
lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  thrown  in  there 
by  the  monks  when  they  abandoned  the  Abbey. 
The  favourite  story  is,  that  there  is  a  great  iron 
chest  there  filled  with  gold  and  jewels,  and  cha 
lices  and  crucifixes.  Nay,  that  it  has  been  seen, 
when  the  water  of  the  lake  was  unusually  low. 
There  were  large  iron  rings  at  each  end,  but  all 
attempts  to  move  it  were  ineffectual ;  either  the 
gold  it  contained  was  too  ponderous,  or,  what  is 
more  probable,  it  was  secured  by  one  of  those 
magic  spells  usually  laid  upon  hidden  treasure. 
It  remains,  therefore,  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake 
to  this  day ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped,  may  one  day 
or  other  be  discovered  by  the  present  worthy 
proprietor. 


183 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  SHERWOOD  FOREST. 

WHILE  at  Newstead  Abbey  I  took  great  de 
light  in  r-iding  and  rambling  about  the  neigh 
bourhood,  studying  out  the  traces  of  merry 
Sherwood  Forest,  and  visiting  the  haunts  of 
Robin  Hood.  The  relics  of  the  old  forest  are 
few  and  scattered,  but  as  to  the  bold  outlaw  that 
once  held  a  kind  of  freebooting  sway  over  it, 
there  is  scarce  a  hill  or  dale,  a  cliff  or  cavern, 
a  well  or  fountain,  in  this  part  of  the  country, 
that  is  not  connected  with  his  memory.  The 
very  names  of  some  of  the  tenants  on  the  New- 
stead  estate,  such  as  Beardall  and  Hardstaff, 
sound  as  if  they  may  have  been  borne  in  old  times 
by  some  of  the  stalwart  fellows  of  the  outlaw 
gang. 

One  of  the  earliest  books  that  captivated  my 
fancy  when  a  child,  was  a  collection  of  Robin 
Hood  ballads,  "  adorned  with  cuts,"  which  I 
bought  of  an  old  Scotch  pedler,  at  the  cost  of 
all  my  holyday  money.  How  I  devoured  its 
pages,  and  gazed  upon  its  uncouth  wood  cuts ! 
For  a  time  my  mind  was  filled  with  picturings 


184  NEWSTEAU  ABBEY. 

of  "  merry  Sherwood,"  and  the  exploits  and 
revelling  of  the  bold  foresters  ;  and  Robin  Hood, 
Little  John,  Friar  Tuck,  and  their  doughty  corn- 
peers,  were  my  heroes  of  romance. 

These  early  feelings  were  in  some  degree 
revived  when  I  found  myself  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  far-famed  forest,  and,  as  I  said  before,  I 
took  a  kind  of  schoolboy  delight  in  hunting  up 
all  traces  of  old  Sherwood  and  its  sylvan  chi 
valry.  One  of  the  first  of  my  antiquarian  ram 
bles  was  on  horseback,  in  company  with  Colonel 
Wildman  and  his  lady,  who  undertook  to  guide 
me  to  some  of  the  mouldering  monuments  of  the 
forest.  One  of  these  stands  in  front  of  the  very 
gate  of  Newstead  Park,  and  is  known  through 
out  the  country  by  the  name  of  "  the  Pilgrim 
Oak."  It  is  a  venerable  tree,  of  great  size,  over 
shadowing  a  wide  area  of  the  road.  Under  its 
shade  the  rustics  of  the  neighbourhood  have 
been  accustomed  to  assemble  on  certain  holy- 
days,  and  celebrate  their  rural  festivals.  This 
custom  had  been  handed  down  from  father  to 
son  for  several  generations,  until  the  oak  had 
acquired  a  kind  of  sacred  character. 

The  "old  Lord  Byron,"  however,  in  whose 
eyes  nothing  was  sacred,  when  he  laid  his  deso 
lating  hand  on  the  groves  and  forests  of  New- 
stead,  doomed  likewise  this  traditional  tree  to 
the  axe.  Fortunately  the  good  people  of  Not- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  185 

tingham  heard  of  the  danger  of  their  favourite 
oak,  and  hastened  to  ransom  it  from  destruction. 
They  afterwards  made  a  present  of  it  to  the 
poet,  when  he  came  to  the  estate,  and  the 
Pilgrim  Oak  is  likely  to  continue  a  rural  gather 
ing  place  for  many  coming  generations.  I 
From  this  magnificent  and  time-honoured  tree 
we  continued  on  our  sylvan  research,  in  quest 
of  another  oak,  of  more  ancient  date  and  less 
flourishing  condition.  A  ride  of  two  or  three 
miles,  the  latter  part  across  open  wastes,  once 
clothed  with  forest,  now  bare  and  cheerless, 
brought  us  to  the  tree  in  question.  It  was  the 
Oak  of  Ravenshead,  one  of  the  last  survivers  of 
old  Sherwood,  and  which  had  evidently  once 
held  a  high  head  in  the  forest ;  it  was  now  a 
mere  wreck,  crazed  by  time,  and  blasted  by 
lightning,  and  standing  alone  on  a  naked  waste} 
like  a  ruined  column  in  a  desert. 

"The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourished  once  a  forest  fair, 
When  these  waste  glens  with  copse  were  lined, 
And  peopled  with  the  hart  and  hind. 
Yon  lonely  oak,  would  he  could  tell 
The  changes  of  his  parent  dell, 
Since  he,  so  gray  and  stubborn  now, 
Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sapling  bough. 
Would  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade 
A  thousand  mingled  branches  made. 
Here  in  my  shade  methinks  he'd  say 
The  mighty  stag  at  noontide  lay. 
16* 


186  NEWSTEAD  ABBfci. 

While  doe,  and  roe,  and  red-deer  good, 
Have  bounded  by  through  gay  green-wood." 

At  no  great  distance  from  the  Ravenshead 
Oak  is  a  small  cave  which  goes  by  the  name  of 
Robin  Hood's  stable.  It  is  in  the  breast  of  a 
hill,  scooped  out  of  brown  freestone,  with  rude 
attempts  at  columns  and  arches.  Within  are 
two  niches,  which  served,  it  is  said,  as  stalls  for 
the  bold  outlaw's  horses.  To  this  retreat  he 
retired  when  hotly  pursued  by  the  law,  for  the 
place  was  a  secret  even  from  his  band.  The 
cave  is  overshadowed  by  an  oak  and  alder,  and 
is  hardly  discoverable,  even  at  the  present  day; 
but  when  the  country  was  overrun  with  forest 
it  must  have  been  completely  concealed. 

There  was  an  agreeable  wildncss  and  loneli 
ness  in  a  great  part  of  our  ride.  Our  devious 
road  wound  down,  at  one  time,  among  rocky 
dells,  by  .wandering  streams,  and  lonely  pools. 
haunted  by  shy  water  fowl.  We  passed  through 
a  skirt  of  woodland,  of  more  modern  planting, 
but  considered  a  legitimate  offspring  of  the 
ancient  forest,  and  commonly  called  Jock  of 
Sherwood.  In  riding  through  these  quiet,  soli 
tary  scenes,  the  partridge  and  pheasant  would 
now  and  then  burst  upon  the  wing,  and  the  hare 
scud  away  before  us. 

Another  of  these  rambling  rides  in  quest  of 
popular  antiquities,  was  to  a  chain  of  rocky 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  187 

cliffs,  called  the  Kirkby  Crags,  which  skirt  the 
Robin  Hood  hills.  Here,  leaving  my  horse  at 
the  foot  of  the  crags,  I  scaled  their  rugged 
sides,  and  seated  myself  in  a  niche  of  the  rocks, 
called  Robin  Hood's  chair.  It  commands  a 
wide  prospect  over  the  valley  of  Newstead,  and 
here  the  bold  outlaw  is  said  to  have  taken  his 
seat,  and  kept  a  look  out  upon  the  roads  below, 
watching  for  merchants,  and  bishops,  and  other 
wealthy  travellers,  upon  whom  to  pounce  down, 
like  an  eagle  from  his  eyrie. 

Descending  from  the  cliffs  and  remounting 
my  horse,  a  ride  of  a  mile  or  two  further  along 
a  narrow  "  robber  path,"  as  it  was  called,  which 
wound  up  into  the  hills  between  perpendicular 
'rocks,  led  to  an  artificial  cavern  cut  in  the  face 
of  a  cliff,  with  a  door  and  window  wrought 
through  the  living  stone.  This  bears  the  name 
of  Friar  Tuck's  cell,  or  hermitage,  where,  ac 
cording  to  tradition,  that  jovial  anchorite  used 
to  make  good  cheer  and  boisterous  revel  with 
his  freebooting  comrades. 

Such  were  some  of  the  vestiges  of  old  Sher 
wood  and  its  renowned  "  yeornandrie,"  which  1 
visited  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Newstead.  The 
worthy  clergyman  who  officiated  as  chaplain  at 
the  Abbey,  seeing  my  zeal  in  the  cause,  informed 
me  of  a  considerable  tract  of  the  ancient  forest, 
still  in  existence  about  ten  miles  distant.  There 


188  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

were  many  fine  old  oaks  in  it,  he  said,  that  had 
stood  for  centuries,  but  were  now  shattered  and 
"  stag  headed,"  that  is  to  say, their  upper  branches 
were  bare,  and  blasted,  and  straggling  out  like 
the  antlers  of  a  deer.  Their  trunks,  too,  were 
hollow,  and  full  of  crows  and  jackdaws,  who 
made  them  their  nestling  places.  He  occasionally 
rode  over  to  the  forest  in  the  long  summer  even 
ings,  and  pleased  himself  with  loitering  in  the 
twilight  about  the  green  alleys  and  under  the 
venerable  trees. 

The  description  given  by  the  chaplain  made 
me  anxious  to  visit  this  remnant  of  old  Sher 
wood,  and  he  kindly  offered  to  be  my  guide  and 
companion.  We  accordingly  sallied  forth  one 
morning  on  horseback  on  this  sylvan  expedition. 
Our  ride  took  us  through  a  part  of  the  country 
where  King  John  had  once  held  a  hunting  seat ; 
the  ruins  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen.  At  that 
time  the  whole  neighbourhood  was  an  open 
royal  forest,  or  Frank  chase,  as  it  was  termed  ;  for 
King  John  was  an  enemy  to  parks  and  warrens, 
and  other  enclosures,  by  which  game  was  fenced 
in  for  the  private  benefit  and  recreation  of  the 
nobles  and  the  clergy. 

Here,  on  the  brow  of  a  gentle  hill,  command 
ing  an  extensive  prospect  of  what  had  once  been 
forest,  stood  another  of  those  monumental  trees? 
which,  to  my  mind,  gave  a  peculiar  interest  to 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  189 

this  neighbourhood.  It  was  the  Parliament  Oak, 
so  called  in  memory  of  an  assemblage  of  the 
kind  held  by  King  John  beneath  its  shade.  The 
lapse  of  upwards  of  six  centuries  had  reduced 
this  once  mighty  tree  to  a  mere  crumbling  frag 
ment,  yet,  like  a  gigantic  torso  in  ancient  sta 
tuary,  the  grandeur  of  the  mutilated  trunk  gave 
evidence  of  what  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  its 
glory.  In  contemplating  its  mouldering  remains, 
the  fancy  busied  itself  in  calling  up  the  scene 
that  must  have  been  presented  beneath  its  shade, 
when  this  sunny  hill  swarmed  with  the  pageantry 
of  a  warlike  and  hunting  court.  When  silken 
pavilions  and  warrior  tents  decked  its  crest, 
and  royal  standards,  and  baronial  banners,  and 
knightly  pennons  rolled  out  to  the  breeze.  When 
prelates  and  courtiers,  and  steel-clad  chivalry 
thronged  round  the  person  of  the  monarch,  while 
at  a  distance  loitered  the  foresters  in  green,  and 
all  the  rural  and  hunting  train  that  waited  upon 
his  sylvan  sports. 

"A  thousand  vassals  mustered  round 
With  horse,  and  hawk,  and  horn,  and  hound  ; 
And  through  the  brake  the  rangers  stalk, 
And  falc'ners  hold  the  ready  hawk  ; 
And  foresters  in  green  wood  trim 
Lead  in  the  leash  the  greyhound  grim." 

Such  was  the  phantasmagoria  that  presented 
itself  for  a  moment  to  my  imagination,  peopling 


190  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

the  silent  place  before  me  with  empty  shadows 
of  the  past.  The  reverie  however  was  transient; 
king,  courtier,  and  steel-clad  warrior,  and  fores 
ter  in  green,  with  horn,  and  hawk,  and  hound,  all 
faded  again  into  oblivion,  and  I  awoke  to  all  that 
remained  of  this  once  stirring  scene  of  human 
pomp  and  power — a  mouldering,  oak  and  a  tra 
dition. 

"  We  are  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of!" 

A  ride  of  a  few  miles  further  brought  us  at  length 
among  the  venerable  and  classic  shades  of  Sher 
wood.  Here  I  was  delighted  to  find  myself  in 
a  genuine  wild  wood,  of  primitive  and  natural 
growth,  so  rarely  to  be  met  with  in  this  thickly 
peopled  and  highly  cultivated  country.  It  re 
minded  me  of  the  aboriginal  forests  of  my  native 
land.  I  rode  through  natural  alleys  and  green 
wood  groves,  carpeted  with  grass  and  shaded  by 
lofty  and  beautiful  birches.  What  most  interested 
me,  however,  was  to  behold  around  the  mighty 
trunks  of  veteran  oaks,  old  monumental  trees, 
the  patriarchs  of  Sherwood  Forest.  They  were 
shattered,  hollow,  and  moss-grown,  it  is  true,  and 
their  "  leafy  honours"  were  nearly  departed ;  but 
like  mouldering  towers  they  were  noble  and  pic 
turesque  in  their  decay,  and  gave  evidence,  even 
in  their  ruins,  of  their  ancient  grandeur. 

As  I  gazed  about  me  upon  these  vestiges  of 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  191 

once  "  Merrie  Sherwood,"  the  picturings  of  my 
boyish  fancy  began  to  rise  in  my  mind,  and 
Robin  Hood  and  his  men  to  stand  before  me. 

"  He  clothed  himself  in  scarlet  then, 

His  men  were  all  in  green  ; 
A  finer  show  throughout  the  world 
In  no  place  could  be  seen. 

Good  lord  !  it  was  a  gallant  sight 

To  see  them  all  in  a  row  ; 
With  every  man  a  good  broad  sword 
And  eke  a  good  yew  bow." 

The  horn  of  Robin  Hood  again  seemed  to 
sound  through  the  forest.  I  saw  his  sylvan  chiv 
alry,  half  huntsmen,  half  freebooters,  trooping 
across  the  distant  glades,  or  feasting  and  revel 
ling  beneath  the  trees  ;  I  was  going  on  to  em 
body  in  this  way  all  the  ballad  scenes  that  had 
delighted  me  when  a  boy,  when  the  distant 
sound  of  a  wood  cutter's  axe  roused  me  from 
my  day  dream. 

The  boding  apprehensions  which  it  awakened 
were  too  soon  verified.  I  had  not  ridden  much 
further,  when  I  came  to  an  open  space  where  the 
work  of  destruction  was  going  on.  Around  me 
lay  the  prostrate  trunks  of  venerable  oaks,  once 
the  towering  and  magnificent  lords  of  the  forest, 
and  a  number  of  wood  cutters  were  hacking  and 
hewing  at  another  gigantic  tree,  just  tottering  to 
its  fall. 


192  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

Alas  !  for  old  Sherwood  Forest :  it  had  fallen 
into  the  possession  of  a  noble  agriculturist : 
a  modern  utilitarian,  who  had  no  feeling  for  po 
etry  or  forest  scenery.  In  a  little  while  and  this 
glorious  woodland  will  be  laid  low ;  its  green 
glades  turned  into  sheep  walks ;  its  legendary 
bowers  supplanted  by  turnip  fields ;  and  "  Merrie 
Sherwood"  will  exist  but  in  ballad  and  tradition. 

"  O  for  the  poetical  superstitions,"  thought  I, 
"  of  the  olden  time  !  that  shed  a  sanctity  over 
eveiy  grove  ;  that  gave  to  each  tree  its  tutelar 
genius  or  nymph,  and  threatened  disaster  to  all 
who  should  molest  the  hamadryads  in  their  leafy 
abodes.  Alas  !  for  the  sordid  propensities  of 
modern  days,  when  every  thing  is  coined  into 
gold,  and  this  once  holyday  planet  of  ours  is 
turned  into  a  mere  '  working  day  world.' " 

My  cobweb  fancies  put  to  flight,  and  my  feel 
ings  out  of  tune,  I  left  the  forest  in  a  far  differ 
ent  mood  from  that  in  which  I  had  entered  it, 
and  rode  silently  along  until,  on  reaching  the 
summit  of  a  gentle  eminence,  the  chime  of  even 
ing  bells  came  on  the  breeze  across  a  heath  from 
a  distant  village. 

I  paused  to  listen. 

"  They  are  merely  the  evening  bells  of  Mans 
field,"  said  my  companion. 

"  Of  Mansfield  !"  Here  was  another  of  the 
legendary  names  of  this  storied  neighbourhood, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  193 

that  called  up  early  and  pleasant  associations. 
The  famous  old  ballad  of  the  King  and  the  Mil 
ler  of  Mansfield  came  at  once  to  mind,  and  the 
chime  of  the  bells  put  me  again  in  good  humour. 
A  little  further  on,  and  we  were  again  on  the 
traces  of  Robin  Hood.  Here  was  Fountain  dale 
where  he  had  his  encounter  with  that  stalworth 
shaveling  Friar  Tuck,  who  was  a  kind  of  saint 
militant,  alternately  wearing  the  casque  and  the 
cowl : 

"The  curtal  fryar  kept  Fountain  dale 

Seven  long  years  and  more, 
There  was  neither  lord,  knight  or  earl 
Could  make  him  yield  before." 

The  moat  is  still  shown  which  is  said  to  have 
surrounded  the  strong  hold  of  this  jovial  and 
fighting  friar  ;  and  the  place  where  he  and  Robin 
Hood  had  their  sturdy  trial  of  strength  and 
prowess,  in  the  memorable  conflict  which  lasted 

"  From  ten  o'clock  that  very  day 
Until  four  in  the  afternoon," 

and  ended  in  the  treaty  of  fellowship.  As  to 
the  hardy  feats,  both  of  sword  and  trencher,  per. 
formed  by  this  "  curtal  fryar,"  behold  are  they 
not  recorded  at  length  in  the  ancient  ballads,  and 
in  the  magic  pages  of  Ivanhoe  ? 

The  evening  was  fast  coming  on,  and  the  twi 
light  thickening,  as  we  rode  through  these  haunts 
17 


194  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

famous  in  outlaw  story.  A  melancholy  seemed 
to  gather  over  the  landscape  as  \ve  proceeded? 
for  our  course  lay  by  shadowy  woods,  and 
across  naked  heaths,  and  along  lonely  roads, 
marked  by  some  of  those  sinister  names  by 
which  the  country  people  in  England  are  apt 
to  make  dreary  places  still  more  dreary.  The 
horrors  of  "  Thieves'  Wood,"  and  the  "  Mur 
derers'  Stone,"  and  "  the  Hag  Nook,"  had  all  to 
be  encountered  in  the  gathering  gloom  of  even 
ing,  and  threatened  to  beset  our  path  with  more 
than  mortal  peril.  Happily,  however,  we  passed 
these  ominous  places  unharmed,  and  arrived  in 
safety  at  the  portal  of  Newstead  Abbey,  highly 
satisfied  with  our  greenwood  foray. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  195 


THE  ROOK  CELL. 

IN  the  course  of  my  sojourn  at  the  Abbey,  I 
changed  my  quarters  from  the  magnificent  old 
state  apartment  haunted  by  Sir  John  Byron  the 
Little,  to  another  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  an 
cient  edifice,  immediately  adjoining  the  ruined 
chapel.  It  possessed  still  more  interest  in  my 
eyes,  from  having  been  the  sleeping  apartment 
of  Lord  Byron  during  his  residence  at  the  Abbey. 
The  furniture  remained  the  same.  Here  was  the 
bed  in  which  he  slept,  and  which  he  had  brought 
with  him  from  college ;  its  gilded  posts  surmount 
ed  by  coronets,  giving  evidence  of  his  aristocrat- 
ical  feelings.  Here  was  likewise  his  college 
sofa ;  and  about  the  walls  were  the  portraits  of 
his  favourite  butler,  old  Joe  Murray,  of  his  fancy 
acquaintance,  Jackson  the  pugilist,  together  with 
pictures  of  Harrow  School  and  the  college  at 
Cambridge,  at  which  he  was  educated. 

The  bedchamber  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
Rook  Cell,  from  its  vicinity  to  the  Rookery  which, 
since  time  immemorial,  has  maintained  posses 
sion  of  a  solemn  grove  adjacent  to  the  chapel. 
This  venerable  community  afforded  me  much 


196  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

food  for  speculation  during  my  residence  in  this 
apartment.  In  the  morning  I  used  to  hear  them 
gradually  waking  and  seeming  to  call  each  other 
up.  After  a  time,  the  whole  fraternity  would  be 
in  a  flutter  ;  some  balancing  and  swinging  on  the 
tree  tops,  others  perched  on  the  pinnacles  of  the 
Abbey  church,  or  wheeling  and  hovering  about 
in  the  air,  and  the  ruined  walls  would  reverbe 
rate  with  their  incessant  cawings.  In  this  way 
they  would  linger  about  the  rookery  and  its  vi 
cinity  for  the  early  part  of  the  morning,  when, 
having  apparently  mustered  all  their  forces,  call 
ed  over  the  roll,  and  determined  upon  their  line 
of  march,  they  one  and  all  would  sail  off  in  a 
long  straggling  flight  to  maraud  the  distant  fields. 
They  would  forage  the  country  for  miles,  and 
remain  absent  all  day,  excepting  now  and  then 
a  scout  would  come  home,  as  if  to  see  that  all 
was  well.  Towards  night  the  whole  host  might 
be  seen,  like  a  dark  cloud  in  the  distance,  wing 
ing  their  way  homeward.  They  came,  as  it, 
were,  with  whoop  and  halloo,  wheeling  high  in 
the  air  above  the  Abbey,  making  various  evolu 
tions  before  they  alighted,  and  then  keeping  up 
an  incessant  cawing  in  the  tree  tops,  until  they 
gradually  fell  asleep. 

It  is  remarked  at  the  Abbey,  that  the  rooks, 
though  they  daily  sally  forth  on  forays  through 
out  the  week,  yet  keep  about  the  venerable  edi- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  197 

fice  on  Sundays,  as  if  they  had  inherited  a 
reverence  for  the  day,  from  their  ancient  con 
freres,  the  monks.  Indeed,  a  believer  in  the 
metemsychosis  might  easily  imagine  these  gothic 
looking  birds  to  be  the  embodied  souls  of  the 
ancient  friars  still  hovering  about  their  sanctified 
abode. 

I  dislike  to  disturb  any  point  of  popular  and 
poetic  faith,  and  was  loath,  therefore,  to  question 
the  authenticity  of  this  mysterious  reverence  for 
the  Sabbath,  on  the  part  of  the  Newstead  rooks ; 
but  certainly  in  the  course  of  my  sojourn  in  the 
rook  cell,  I  detected  them  in  a  flagrant  outbreak 
and  foray  on  a  bright  Sunday  morning. 

Beside  the  occasional  clamour  of  the  rookery? 
this  remote  apartment  was  often  greeted  with 
sounds  of  a  different  kind,  from  the  neighbour 
ing  ruins.  The  great  lancet  window  in  front  of 
the  chapel,  adjoins  the  very  wall  of  the  chamber; 
and  the  mysterious  sounds  from  it  at  night,  have 
been  well  described  by  Lord  Byron : 


'  Now  loud,  now  frantic, 


The  gale  sweeps  through  its  fretwork,  and  oft  sings 
The  owl  his  anthem,  when  the  silent  quire 
Lie  with  their  hallelujahs  quenched  like  fire. 

But  on  the  noontide  of  the  moon,  and  when 
The  wind  is  winged  from  one  point  of  heaven, 

There  moans  a  strange  unearthly  sound,  which  then 
Is  musical — a  dying  accent  driven 

17* 


198  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

Through  the  huge  arch,  which  soars  and  sinks  again. 

Some  deem  it  but  the  distant  echo  given 
Back  to  the  night  wind  by  the  waterfall, 

And  harmonized  by  the  old  choral  wall. 

Others,  that  some  original  shape  or  form, 

Shaped  by  decay  perchance,  hath  given  the  power 

To  this  gray  ruin,  with  a  voice  to  charm. 

Sad,  but  serene,  it  sweeps  o'er  tree  or  tower; 

The  cause  I  know  not,  nor  can  solve ;  but  such 

The  fact : — I've  heard  it, — once  perhaps  too  much." 

Never  was  a  traveller  in  quest  of  the  roman 
tic  in  greater  luck.  I  had,  in  sooth,  got  lodged 
in  another  haunted  apartment  of  the  Abbey  ;  for 
in  this  chamber  Lord  Byron  declared  he  had 
more  than  once  been  harassed  at  midnight  by 
a  mysterious  visiter.  A  black  shapeless  form 
would  sit  cowering  upon  his  bed,  and  after  gazing 
at  him  for  a  time  with  glaring  eyes,  would  roll 
off  and  disappear.  The  same  uncouth  appari 
tion  is  said  to  have  disturbed  the  slumbers  of  a 
newly  married  couple  that  once  passed  their 
honey-moon  in  this  apartment. 

I  would  observe,  that  the  access  to  the  Rook 
Cell  is  by  a  spiral  stone  staircase  leading  up  into 
it,  as  into  a  turret,  from  the  long  shadowy  cor 
ridor  over  the  cloisters,  one  of  the  midnight 
walks  of  the  goblin  friar.  Indeed,  to  the  fan 
cies  engendered  in  his  brain  in  this  remote  and 
lonely  apartment,  incorporated  with  the  floating 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  199 

superstitions  of  the  Abbey,  we  are  no  doubt  in 
debted  for  the  spectral  scene  in  Don  Juan. 

"Then  as  the  night,  was  clear,  though  cold,  he  threw 
His  chamber  door  wide  open — and  went  forth 

Into  a  gallery,  of  sombre  hue, 

Long  furnish'd  with  old  pictures  of  great  worth, 

Of  knights  and  dames,  heroic  and  chaste  too, 

As  doubtless  should  be  people  of  high  birth. 

*****  *  * 

No  sound  except  the  echo  of  his  sigh 

Or  step  ran  sadly  through  that  antique  house, 

When  suddenly  he  heard,  or  thought  so,  nigh, 
A  supernatural  agent — or  a  mouse, 

Whose  little  nibbling  rustle  will  embarrass 

Most  people,  as  it  plays  along  the  arras. 

It  was  no  mouse,  but  lo  !  a  monk,  arrayed 
In  cowl,  and  beads,  and  dusky  garb,  appeared, 

Now  in  the  moonlight,  and  now  lapsed  in  shade  ; 
With  steps  that  trod  as  heavy,  yet  unheard ; 

His  garments  only  a  slight  murmur  made  ; 
He  moved  as  shadowy  as  the  sisters  weird, 

But  slowly ;  and  as  he  passed  Juan  by 

Glared,  without  pausing,  on  him  a  bright  eye. 

Juan  was  petrified  ;  he  had  heard  a  hint 

Of  such  a  spirit  in  these  halls  of  old, 
But  thought,  like  most  men,  there  was  nothing  in't 

Beyond  the  rumour  which  such  spots  unfold, 
Coin'd  from  surviving  superstition's  mint, 

Which  passes  ghosts  in  currency  like  gold, 
But,  rarely  seen,  like  gold  compared  with  paper. 
And  did  he  see  this  ?  or  was  it  a  vapour  ? 

Once,  twice,  thrice  pass'd,  repass'd — the  thing  of  air, 
Or  earth  beneath,  or  heaven,  or  t'other  place  ; 


200  NEWSTEAI)  ABBEY. 

And  Juan  gazed  upon  it  with  a  stare, 

Yet  could  not  speak  or  move  ;  but,  on  its  base 

As  stands  a  statue,  stood  :  he  felt  his  hair 

Twine  like  a  knot  of  snakes  around  his  face  ; 

He  tax'd  his  tongue  for  words,  which  were  not  granted, 

To  ask  the  reverend  person  what  he  wanted. 

The  third  time,  after  a  still  longer  pause, 

The  shadow  pass'd  away — but  where  ?  the  hall 

Was  long,  and  thus  far  there  was  no  great  cause 
To  think  his  vanishing  unnatural :  . 

Doors  there  were  many,  through  which,  by  the  laws 
Of  physics,  bodies,  whether  short  or  tall, 

Might  come  or  go  ;  but  Juan  could  not  state 

Through  which  the  spectre  seem'd  to  evaporate. 

He  stood,  how  long  he  knew  not,  but  it  seem'd 
An  age — expectant,  powerless,  with  his  eyes 

Strain'd  on  the  spot  where  first  the  figure  gleam'd ; 
Then  by  degrees  recall'd  his  energies, 

And  would  have  pass'd  the  whole  off  as  a  dream. 
But  could  not  wake  ;  he  was,  he  did  surmise, 

Waking  already,  and  returned  at  length 

Back  to  his  chamber,  shorn  of  half  his  strength." 

As  I  have  already  observed,  it  is  difficult  to 
determine  whether  Lord  Byron  was  really  sub 
ject  to  the  superstitious  fancies  which  have  been 
imputed  to  him,  or  whether  he  merely  amused 
himself  by  giving  currency  to  them  among  his 
domestics  and  dependants.  He  certainly  never 
scrupled  to  express  a  belief  in  supernatural  visi 
tations,  both  verbally  and  in  his  correspondence. 
If  such  were  his  foible,  the  Rook  Cell  was  an 
admirable  place  to  engender  these  delusions. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  201 

As  I  have  lain  awake  at  night,  I  have  heard  all 
kinds  of  mysterious  and  sighing  sounds  from  the 
neighbouring  ruin.  Distant  footsteps,  too,  and 
the  closing  of  doors  in  remote  parts  of  the  Ab 
bey,  would  send  hollow  reverberations  and 
echoes  along  the  corridor  and  up  the  spiral  stair 
case.  Once,  in  fact,  I  was  roused  by  a  strange 
sound  at  the  very  door  of  my  chamber.  I  threw 
it  open,  and  a  form  "  black  and  shapeless  with 
glaring  eyes"  stood  before  me.  It  proved,  how 
ever,  neither  ghost  nor  goblin,  but  my  friend 
Boatswain,  the  great  Newfoundland  dog,  who 
had  conceived  a  companionable  liking  for  me, 
and  occasionally  sought  me  in  my  apartment. 
To  the  hauntings  of  even  such  a  visitant  as  ho 
nest  Boatswain  may  we  attribute  some  of  the 
marvellous  stories  about  the  Goblin  Friar. 


202  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  LADY. 

IN  the  course  of  a  morning's  ride  with  Colonel 
Wildman,  about  the  Abbey  lands,  we  found  our 
selves  in  one  of  the  prettiest  little  wild  woods 
imaginable.  The  road  to  it  had  led  us  among 
rocky  ravines  overhung  with  thickets,  and  now 
wound  through  birchen  dingles  and  among  beau 
tiful  groves  and  clumps  of  elms  and  beeches. 
A  limpid  rill  of  sparkling  water,  winding  and 
doubling  in  perplexed  mazes,  crossed  our  path 
repeatedly,  so  as  to  give  the  wood  the  appear 
ance  of  being  watered  by  numerous  rivulets. 
The  solitary  and  romantic  look  of  this  piece  of 
woodland,  and  the  frequent  recurrence  of  its 
mazy  stream,  put  him  in  mind,  Colonel  Wildman 
said,  of  the  little  German  fairy  tale  of  Undine, 
in  which  is  recorded  the  adventures  of  a  knight 
who  had  married  a  water  nymph.  As  he  rode 
with  his  bride  through  her  native  woods,  every 
stream  claimed  her  as  a  relative  ;  one  was  a 
brother,  another  an  uncle,  another  a  cousin. 

We  rode  on  amusing  ourselves  with  applying 
this  fanciful  tale  to  the  charming  scenery  around 
us,  until  we  came  to  a  lowly  gray-stone  farm 
house,  of  ancient  date,  situated  in  a  solitary  glen, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  203 

on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  and  overshadowed 
by  venerable  trees.  It  went  by  the  name,  as  I 
was  told,  of  the  Weir  Mill  farm  house.  With 
this  rustic  mansion  was  connected  a  little  tale 
of  real  life,  some  circumstances  of  which  were 
related  to  me  on  the  spot,  and  others  I  collected 
in  the  course  of  my  sojourn  at  the  Abbey. 

Not  long  after  Colonel  Wildman  had  purchas 
ed  the  estate  of  Newstead,  he  made  it  a  visit  for 
the  purpose  of  planning  repairs  and  alterations. 
As  he  was  rambling  one  evening,  about  dusk, 
in  company  with  his  architect,  through  this  little 
piece  of  woodland,  he  was  struck  with  its  pecu 
liar  characteristics,  and  then,  for  the  first  time, 
compared  it  to  the  haunted  wood  of  Undine. 
While  he  was  making  the  remark,  a  small  female 
figure,  in  white,  flitted  by  without  speaking  a 
word,  or  indeed  appearing  to  notice  them.  Her 
step  was  scarcely  heard  as  she  passed,  and  her 
form  was  indistinct  in  the  twilight. 

"What  a  figure,"  exclaimed  Colonel  Wild 
man,  "for  a  fairy  or  sprite  !  How  much  a  poet  or 
a  romance  writer  would  make  of  such  an  appa 
rition,  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  a  place." 

He  began  to  congratulate  himself  upon  having 
some  elfin  inhabitant  for  his  haunted  wood, 
when,  on  proceeding  a  few  paces,  he  found  a 
white  frill  lying  in  the  path,  which  had  evidently 
fallen  from  the  figure  that  had  just  passed. 


204  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "after  all,  this  is  neither 
sprite  nor  fairy,  but  a  being  of  flesh,  and  blood, 
and  muslin." 

Continuing  on,  he  came  to  where  the  road 
passed  by  an  old  mill  in  front  of  the  Abbey. 
The  people  of  the  mill  were  at  the  door.  He 
paused  and  inquired  whether  any  visitor  had 
been  at  the  Abbey,  but  was  answered  in  the 
negative. 

"  Has  nobody  passed  by  here  ?" 

"  No  one,  sir." 

"  That's  strange  !  Surely  I  met  a  female  in 
white,  who  must  have  passed  along  this  path." 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  mean  the  Little  White  La 
dy — oh,  yes,  she  passed  by  here  not  long 
since." 

"  The  Little  White  Lady  !  And  pray  who  is 
the  Little  White  Lady  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  that  nobody  knows,  she  lives  in 
the  Weir  Mill  farm  house,  down  in  the  skirts  of 
the  wood.  She  comes  to  the  Abbey  every 
morning,  keeps  about  it  all  day,  and  goes  away 
at  night.  She  speaks  to  nobody,  and  we  are 
rather  shy  of  her,  for  we  don't  know  what  to 
make  of  her." 

Colonel  Wildman  now  concluded  that  it  was 
some  artist  or  amateur  employed  in  making 
sketches  of  the  Abbey,  and  thought  no  more 
about  the  matter.  He  went  to  London,  and  was 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  205 

absent  for  some  time.  In  the  interim,  his  sister, 
who  was  newly  married,  came  with  her  husband 
to  pass  the  honey-moon  at  the  abbey.  The  Little 
White  Lady  still  resided  in  the  Weir  Mill  farm 
house,  on  the  border  of  the  haunted  wood,  and 
continued  her  visits  daily  to  the  Abbey.  Her 
dress  was  always  the  same,  a  white  gown  with 
a  little  black  spencer  or  bodice,  and  a  white  hat 
with  a  short  veil  that  screened  the  upper  part  of 
her  countenance.  Her  habits  were  shy,  lonely, 
and  silent;  she  spoke  to  no  one,  and  sought  no 
companionship,  excepting  with  the  Newfound 
land  dog,  that  had  belonged  to  Lord  Byron. 
His  friendship  she  secured  by  caressing  him  and 
occasionally  bringing  him  food,  and  he  became 
the  companion  of  her  solitary  walks.  She 
avoided  all  strangers,  and  wandered  about  the 
retired  parts  of  the  garden ;  sometimes  sit 
ting  for  hours,  by  the  tree  on  which  Lord  Byron 
had  carved  his  name,  or  at  the  foot  of  the 
monument,  which  he  had  erected  among  the 
ruins  of  the  chapel.  Sometimes  she  read,  some 
times  she  wrote  with  a  pencil  on  a  small  slate 
which  she  carried  with  her,  but  much  of  her  time 
was  passed  in  a  kind  of  reverie. 

The  people  about  the  place  gradually  became 

accustomed  to  her,  and  suffered  her  to  wander 

about  unmolested  :  their  distrust  of  her  subsided 

on  discovering  that  most  of  her  peculiar  and 

18 


206  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

lonely  habits  arose  from  the  misfortune  of  being 
deaf  and  dumb.  Still  she  was  regarded  with 
some  degree  of  shyness,  for  it  was  the  common 
opinion  that  she  was  not  exactly  in  her  right 
mind. 

Colonel  Wildman's  sister  was  informed  of  all 
these  circumstances  by  the  servants  of  the  Ab 
bey,  among  whom  the  Little  White  Lady  was  a 
theme  of  frequent  discussion.  The  Abbey  and 
its  monastic  environs  being  haunted  ground,  it 
was  natural  that  a  mysterious  visitant  of  the  kind, 
and  one  supposed  to  be  under  the  influence  of 
mental  hallucination,  should  inspire  awe  in  a  per 
son  unaccustomed  to  the  place.  As  Colonel 
Wildman's  sister  was  one  day  walking  along  a 
broad  terrace  of  the  garden,  she  suddenly  beheld 
the  Little  White  Lady  coming  towards  her,  and, 
in  the  surprise  and  agitation  of  the  moment, 
turned  and  ran  into  the  house. 

Day  after  day  now  elapsed,  and  nothing  more 
was  seen  of  this  singular  personage.  Colonel 
Wildman  at  length  arrived  at  the  Abbey,  and 
his  sister  mentioned  to  him  her  rencounter  and 
fright  in  the  garden.  It  brought  to  mind  his  own 
adventure  with  the  Little  White  Lady  in  the 
wood  of  Undine,  and  he  was  surprised  to  find 
that  she  still  continued  her  mysterious  wander 
ings  about  the  Abbey.  The  mystery  was  soon 
explained.  Immediately  after  his  arrival  he  re- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  207 

ceived  a  letter  written  in  the  most  minute  and 
delicate  female  hand,  and  in  elegant  and  even 
eloquent  language.  It  was  from  the  Little  White 
Lady.  She  had  noticed  and  been  shocked  by 
the  abrupt  retreat  of  Colonel  Wildman's  sister  on 
seeing  her  in  the  garden  walk,  and  expressed 
her  unhappiness  at  being  an  object  of  alarm  to 
any  of  his  family.  She  explained  the  motives 
of  her  frequent  and  long  visits  to  the  Abbey, 
which  proved  to  be  a  singularly  enthusiastic  idol 
atry  of  the  genius  of  Lord  Byron,  and  a  solitary 
and  passionate  delight  in  haunting  the  scenes  he 
had  once  inhabited.  She  hinted  at  the  infirmi 
ties  which  cut  her  off  from  all  social  communion 
with  her  fellow  beings,  and  at  her  situation  in 
life  as  desolate  and  bereaved ;  and  concluded  by 
hoping  that  he  would  not  deprive  her  of  her  only 
comfort,  the  permission  of  visiting  the  Abbey 
occasionally,  and  lingering  about  its  walks  and 
gardens. 

Colonel  Wildman  now  made  further  inquiries 
concerning  her,  and  found  that  she  was  a  great 
favourite  with  the  people  of  the  farm  house 
where  she  boarded,  from  the  gentleness,  quie 
tude,  and  innocence  of  her  manners.  When  at 
home,  she  passed  the  greater  part  of  her  time  in 
a  small  sitting  room,  reading  and  writing. 

Colonel  Wildman  immediately  called  on  her 
at  the  farm  house.  She  received  him  with  some 


208  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

agitation  and  embarrassment,  but  his  frankness 
and  urbanity  soon  put  her  at  her  ease.  She 
was  past  the  bloom  of  youth,  a  pale  nervous  little 
being,  and  apparently  deficient  in  most  of  her 
physical  organs,  for  in  addition  to  being  deaf  and 
dumb,  she  saw  but  imperfectly.  They  carried 
on  a  communication  by  means  of  a  small  slate, 
which  she  drew  out  of  her  reticule,  and  on  which 
they  wrote  their  questions  and  replies.  In  wri 
ting  or  reading  she  always  approached  her  eyes 
close  to  the  written  characters. 

This  defective  organization  was  accompanied 
by  a  morbid  sensibility  almost  amounting  to  dis 
ease.  She  had  not  been  born  deaf  and  dumb  ; 
but  had  lost  her  hearing  in  a  fit  of  sickness,  and 
with  it  the  power  of  distinct  articulation.  Her 
life  had  evidently  been  chequered  and  unhappy ; 
she  was  apparently  without  family  or  friend,  a 
lonely  desolate  being,  cut  off  from  society  by 
her  infirmities. 

"  I  am  always  amongst  strangers,"  said  she, 
"  as  much  so  in  my  native  country,  as  I  could  be 
in  the  remotest  parts  of  the  world.  By  all  I  am 
considered  as  a  stranger  and  an  alien  ;  no  one 
will  acknowledge  any  connexion  with  me.  I 
seem  not  to  belong  to  the  human  species." 

Such  were  the  circumstances  that  Colonel 
Wildman  was  able  to  draw  forth  in  the  course 
of  his  conversation,  and  they  strongly  interested 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  209 

him  in  favour  of  this  poor  enthusiast.  He  was 
too  devout  an  admirer  of  Lord  Byron  himself, 
not  to  sympathize  in  this  extraordinary  zeal  of 
one  of  his  votaries,  and  he  entreated  her  to  re 
new  her  visits  to  the  Abbey,  assuring  her  that 
the  edifice  and  its  grounds  should  always  be 
open  to  her. 

The  Little  White  Lady  now  resumed  her 
daily  walks  in  the  Monk's  Garden,  and  her  occa 
sional  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  monument ;  she  was 
shy  and  diffident,  however,  and  evidently  fearful 
of  intruding.  If  any  persons  were  walking  in 
the  garden  she  would  avoid  them,  and  seek  the 
most  remote  parts ;  and  was  seen  like  a  sprite,  only 
by  gleams  and  glimpses,  as  she  glided  among  the 
groves  and  thickets.  Many  of  her  feelings  and 
fancies,  during  these  lonely  rambles,  were  em 
bodied  in  verse,  noted  down  on  her  tablet,  and 
transferred  to  paper  in  the  evening  on  her  re 
turn  to  the  farm  house.  Some  of  these  verses 
now  lie  before  me,  written  with  considerable 
harmony  of  versification,  but  chiefly  curious  as 
being  illustrative  of  that  singular  and  enthusi 
astic  idolatry  with  which  she  almost  worshipped 
the  genius  of  Byron,  or  rather,  the  romantic 
image  of  him  formed  by  her  imagination. 

Two  or  three  extracts  may  not  be  unaccept 
able.    The  following  are  from  a  long  rhapsody 
addressed  to  Lord  Byron  : 
18* 


210  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

"  By  what  dread  charm  thou  rulest  the  mind 

It  is  not  given  for  us  to  know  ; 
We  glow  with  feelings  undefined, 
Nor  can  explain  from  whence  they  flow. 

Not  that  fond  love  which  passion  breathes 

And  youthful  hearts  inflame; 
The  soul  a  nobler  homage  gives, 

And  bows  to  thy  great  name. 

Oft  have  we  own'd  the  muses'  skill, 

And  proved  the  power  of  song, 
But  sweetest  notes  ne'er  woke  the  thrill 

That  solely  to  thy  verse  belong. 

This — but  far  more,  for  thee  we  prove, 
Something  that  bears  a  holier  name, 

Than  the  pure  dream  of  early  love, 
Or  friendship's  nobler  flame. 

Something  divine — Oh  !  what  it  is 

Thy  muse  alone  can  tell, 
So  sweet,  but  so  profound  the  bliss 
We  dread  to  break  the  spell." 

This  singular  and  romantic  infatuation,  for 
such  it  might  truly  be  called,  was  entirely  spirit 
ual  and  ideal,  for,  as  she  herself  declares  in  an 
other  of  her  rhapsodies,  she  had  never  beheld 
Lord  Byron  ;  he  was,  to  her,  a  mere  phantom  of 
the  brain. 

«'  I  ne'er  have  drunk  thy  glance — Thy  form 

My  earthly  eye  has  never  seen, 
Though  oft  when  fancy's  visions  warm, 
It  greets  me  in  some  blissful  dream. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  211 

Greets  me,  as  greets  the  sainted  seer 

Some  radiant  visitant  from  high, 
When  heaven's  own  strains  break  on  his  ear, 

And  wrap  his  soul  in  ecstasy." 

Her  poetical  wanderings  and  musings  were 
not  confined  to  the  Abbey  grounds,  but  ex 
tended  to  all  parts  of  the  neighbourhood  con 
nected  with  the  memory  of  Lord  Byron,  and 
among  the  rest  to  the  groves  and  gardens  of 
Annesley  Hall,  the  seat  of  his  early  passion  for 
Miss  Chaworth.  One  of  her  poetical  effusions 
mentions  her  having  seen  from  Howet's  Hill  in 
Annesley  Park,  a  "  sylph  like  form,"  in  a  car 
drawn  by  milk-white  horses,  passing  by  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  who  proved  to  be  the  "  favourite  child," 
seen  by  Lord  Byron,  in  his  memorable  interview 
with  Miss  Chaworth  after  her  marriage.  That  fa 
vourite  child  was  now  a  blooming  girl  approach 
ing  to  womanhood,  and  seems  to  have  under 
stood  something  of  the  character  and  story  of 
this  singular  visitant,  and  to  have  treated  her 
with  gentle  sympathy.  The  Little  White  Lady 
expresses  in  touching  terms,  in  a  note  to  her 
verses,  her  sense  of  this  gentle  courtesy.  "  The 
benevolent  condescension,"  says  she,  "  of  that 
amiable  and  interesting  young  lady,  to  the  un 
fortunate  writer  of  these  simple  lines,  will  re 
main  engraved  upon  a  grateful  memory,  till  the 
vital  spark  that  now  animates  a  heart  that  too' 


212  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

sensibly  feels,  and  too  seldom  experiences  such 
kindness,  is  for  ever  extinct." 

In  the  meantime,  Colonel  Wildrnan,  in  occa 
sional  interviews,  had  obtained  further  particu 
lars  of  the  story  of  the  stranger,  and  found  that 
poverty  was  added  to  the  other  evils  of  her  for 
lorn  and  isolated  state.  Her  name  was  Sophia 
Hyatt.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  country 
bookseller,  but  both  her  parents  had  died  several 
years  before.  At  their  death,  her  sole  depend- 
ance  was  upon  her  brother,  who  allowed  her  a 
small  annuity  on  her  share  of  the  property  left 
by  their  father,  and  which  remained  in  his  hands. 
Her  brother,  who  was  a  captain  of  a  merchant 
vessel,  removed  with  his  family  to  America, 
leaving  her  almost  alone  in  the  world,  for  she 
had  no  other  relative  in  England  but  a  cousin,  of 
whom  she  knew  almost,  nothing.  She  received 
her  annuity  regularly  for  a  time,  but  unfortunately 
her  brother  died  in  the  West  Indies,  leaving  his 
affairs  in  confusion,  and  his  estate  overhung  by 
several  commercial  claims,  which  threatened  to 
swallow  up  the  whole.  Under  these  disastrous 
circumstances,  her  annuity  suddenly  ceased  ;  she 
had  in  vain  tried  to  obtain  a  renewal  of  it  from 
the  widow,  or  even  an  account  of  the  state  of 
her  brother's  affairs.  Her  letters  for  three  years 
past  had  remained  unanswered,  and  she  would 
have  been  exposed  to  the  horrors  of  the  most 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  213 

abject  want,  but  for  a  pittance  quarterly  doled 
out  to  her  by  her  cousin  in  England. 

Colonel  Wildman  entered  with  characterestic 
benevolence  into,  the  story  of  her  troubles.  He 
saw  that  she  was  a  helpless,  unprotected  being, 
upable  from  her  infirmities  and  her  ignorance 
of  the  world,  to  prosecute  her  just  claims.  He 
obtained  from  her  the  address  of  her  relations  in 
America,  and  of  the  commercial  connexion  of 
her  brother ;  promised  through  the  medium  of 
his  own  agents  in  Liverpool,  to  institute  an  in 
quiry  into  the  situation  of  her  brother's  affairs, 
and  to  forward  any  letters  she  might  write,  so  as 
to  insure  their  reaching  their  place  of  destina 
tion. 

Inspired  with  some  faint  hopes,  the  Little 
White  Lady  continued  her  wanderings  about  the 
Abbey  and  its  neighbourhood.  The  delicacy  and 
timidity  of  her  deportment  increased  the  inter 
est  already  felt  for  her  by  Mrs.  Wildman.  That 
lady,  with  her  wonted  kindness,  sought  to  make 
acquaintance  with  her,  and  inspire  her  with  con 
fidence.  She  invited  her  into  the  Abbey;  treated 
her  with  the  most  delicate  attention,  and,  seeing 
that  she  had  a  great  turn  for  reading,  offered  her 
the  loan  of  any  books  in  her  possession.  She 
borrowed  a  few,  particularly  the  works  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  but  soon  returned  them;  the 
writings  of  Lord  Byron  seemed  to  form  the  only 


214  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

study  in  which  she  delighted,  and  when  not  oc 
cupied  in  reading  those,  her  time  was  passed  in 
passionate  meditations  on  his  genius.  Her  en 
thusiasm  spread  an  ideal  world  around  her  in 
which  she  moved  and  existed  as  in  a  dream,  for 
getful  at  times  of  the  real  miseries  that  beset  her 
in  her  mortal  state. 

One  of  her  rhapsodies  is,  however,  of  a  very 
melancholy  cast ;  anticipating  her  own  death, 
which  her  fragile  frame  and  growing  infirmities 
rendered  but  too  probable.  It  is  headed  by  the 
following  paragraph  : 

"  Written  beneath  the  tree  on  Crowholt  Hill, 
where  it  is  my  wish  to  be  interred,  (if  I  should 
die  in  Newstead)." 

I  subjoin  a  few  of  the  stanzas:  they  are  ad 
dressed  to  Lord  Byron : 

"  Thou,  while  thou  stand'st  beneath  this  tree, 

While  by  thy  foot  this  earth  is  press'd, 
Think,  here  the  wanderer's  ashes  be — 

And  wilt  thou  say,  sweet  be  thy  rest ! 

*  *  *  *      *        *  *  * 

'Twould  add  even  to  a  seraph's  bliss, 
Whose  sacred  charge  thou  then  may  be, 

To  guide — to  guard — yes,  Byron  !  yes, 
That  glory  is  reserved  for  me. 

If  woes  below  may  plead  above 

A  frail  heart's  errors,  mine  forgiven, 

To  that  "  high  world"  I  soar,  where  "  love 
Surviving"  forms  the  bliss  of  Heaven. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  215 

0  wheresoe'er,  in  realms  above, 
Assign'd  my  spirit's  new  abode, 

'Twill  watch  thee  with  a  seraph's  love, 
'Till  thou  too  soar'st  to  meet  thy  God. 

And  here,  beneath  this  lonely  tree — 
Beneath  the  earth  thy  feet  have  press'd, 

My  dust  shall  sleep — once  dear  to  thee 

These  scenes — here  may  the  wanderer  rest !" 

In  the  midst  of  her  reveries  and  rhapsodies, 
tidings  reached  Newstead  of  the  untimely  death 
of  Lord  Byron.  How  they  were  received  by 
this  humble  but  passionate  devotee  I  could  not 
ascertain  ;  her  life  was  too  obscure  and  lonely  to 
furnish  much  personal  anecdote,  but  among  her 
poetical  effusions  are  several  written  in  a  broken 
and  irregular  manner,  and  evidently  under  great 
agitation. 

The  following  sonnet  is  the  most  coherent  and 
most  descriptive  of  her  peculiar  state  of  mind. 

"  Well,  thou  art  gone — but  what  wert  thou  to  me  ? 

1  never  saw  thee — never  heard  thy  voice, 
Yet  my  soul  seemed  to  claim  affiance  with  thee. 

The  Roman  bard  has  sung  of  fields  Elysian, 
Where  the  soul  sojourns  ere  she  visits  earth  ; 

Sure  it  was  there  my  spirit  knew  thee,  Byron  I 
Thine  image  haunteth  me  like  a  past  vision ; 

It  hath  enshrined  itself  in  my  heart's  core  : 
'Tis  my  soul's  soul — it  fills  the  whole  creation. 

For  I  do  live  but  in  that  world  ideal 
Which  the  muse  peopleth  with  her  bright  fancies, 

And  of  that  world  thou  art  a  monarch  real, 
Nor  ever  earthly  sceptre  ruled  a  kingdom, 

With  sway  so  potent  as  thy  lyre,  the  mind's  do- 
minion." 


216  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

Taking  all  the  circumstances  here  adduced 
into  consideration,  it  is  evident  that  this  strong 
excitement  and  exclusive  occupation  of  the  mind 
upon  one  subject,  operating  upon  a  system  in  a 
high  state  of  morbid  irritability,  was  in  danger 
of  producing  that  species  of  mental  derangement 
called  monomania.  The  poor  little  being  was 
aware,  herself,  of  the  dangers  of  her  case,  and 
alluded  to  it  in  the  following  passage  of  a  letter 
to  Colonel  Wildman,  which  presents  one  of  the 
most  lamentable  pictures  of  anticipated  evil  ever 
conjured  up  by  the  human  mind. 

"  I  have  long,"  writes  she,  "  too  sensibly  felt 
the  decay  of  my  mental  faculties,  which  I  con 
sider  as  the  certain  indication  of  that  dreaded 
calamity  which  I  anticipate  with  such  terror. 
A  strange  idea  has  long  haunted  my  mind,  that 
Swift's  dreadful  fate  will  be  mine.  It  is  not  or 
dinary  insanity  I  so  much  apprehend,  but  some 
thing  worse — absolute  idiotism  ! 

"  O  sir  !  think  what  I  must  suffer  from  such 
an  idea,  without  an  earthly  friend  to  look  up  to 
for  protection  in  such  a  wretched  state — exposed 
to  the  indecent  insults  which  such  spectacles  al 
ways  excite.  But  I  dare  not  dwell  upon  the 
thought ;  it  would  facilitate  the  event  I  so  much 
dread,  and  contemplate  with  horror.  Yet  I  can 
not  help  thinking  from  people's  behaviour  to  me 
at  times,  and  from  after  reflections  upon  my 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  217 

conduct,  that  symptoms  of  the  disease  are  al 
ready  apparent." 

Five  months  passed  away,  but  the  letters 
written  by  her,  and  forwarded  by  Colonel  Wild- 
man  to  America  relative  to  her  brother's  affairs, 
remained  unanswered  ;  the  inquiries  instituted 
by  the  Colonel  had  as  yet  proved  equally  fruit 
less.  A  deeper  gloom  and  despondency  now 
seemed  to  gather  upon  her  mind.  She  began 
to  talk  of  leaving  Newstead,  and  repairing  to 
London,  in  the  vague  hope  of  obtaining  relief  or 
redress  by  instituting  some  legal  process  to  as 
certain  and  enforce  the  will  of  her  deceased 
brother.  Weeks  elapsed,  however,  before  she 
could  summon  up  sufficient  resolution  to  tear 
herself  away  from  the  scene  of  poetical  fascina 
tion.  The  following  simple  stanzas,  selected 
from  a  number  written  about  the  time,  express 
in  humble  rhymes  the  melancholy  that  preyed 
upon  her  spirits : 

"  Farewell  to  thee,  Newstead,  thy  time-riven  towers 

Shall  meet  the  fond  gaze  of  the  pilgrim  no  more  ; 
No  more  may  she  roam  through  thy  walks  and  thy  bowers, 
Nor  muse  in  thy  cloisters  at  eve's  pensive  hour. 

Oh  how  shall  I  leave  you,  ye  hills  and  ye  dales, 
When  lost  in  sad  musing,  though  sad  not  unblest, 

A  lone  pilgrim  I  stray — Ah  !  in  these  lonely  vales, 
I  hoped,  vainly  hoped,  that  the  pilgrim  might  rest; 

Yet  rest  is  far  distant — in  the  dark  vale  of  death, 
Alone  shall  I  rind  it,  an  outcast  forlorn — 
19 


218  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

But  hence  vain  complaints,  though  by  fortune  bereft 
Of  all  that  could  solace  in  life's  early  morn. 

Is  not  man  from  his  birth  doomed  a  pilgrim  to  roam 

O'er  the  world's  dreary  wilds,  whence  by  fortune's  rude 
gust, 

In  his  path,  if  some  flowret  of  joy  chanced  to  bloom, 
It  is  torn  and  its  foilagc  laid  low  in  the  dust." 

At  length  she  fixed  upon  a  day  for  her  depar 
ture.  On  the  day  previous,  she  paid  a  farewell 
visit  to  the  Abbey  ;  wandering  over  every  part 
of  the  grounds  and  garden  ;  pausing  and  linger 
ing  at  every  place  particularly  associated  with 
the  recollection  of  Lord  Byron ;  and  passing  a 
long  time  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  monument, 
which  she  used  to  call  "her  altar."  Seeking 
Mrs.  Wildman,  she  placed  in  her  hands  a  sealed 
packet,  with  an  earnest  request  that  she  would 
not  open  it  until  after  her  departure  from  the 
neighbourhood.  This  done,  she  took  an  affect 
ing  leave  of  her,  and  with  many  bitter  tears  bade 
farewell  to  the  Abbey. 

On  retiring  to  her  room  that  evening,  Mrs. 
Wildman  could  not  refrain  from  inspecting  the 
legacy  of  this  singular  being.  On  opening  the 
packet,  she  found  a  number  of  fugitive  poems, 
written  in  a  most  delicate  and  minute  hand,  and 
evidently  the  fruits  of  her  reveries  and  medita 
tions  during  her  lonely  rambles :  from  these  the 
foregoing  extracts  have  been  made.  These  were 


NEWSTEAD  AB^EY.  219 

accompanied  by  a  voluminous  letter,  written 
with  the  pathos  and  eloquence  of  genuine  feel 
ing,  and  depicting  her  peculiar  situation  and  sin 
gular  state  of  mind  in  dark  but  painful  colours. 

"  The  last  time,"  says  she,  "  that  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  the  garden,  you  asked 
me  why  I  leave  Newstead  ;  when  I  told  you  my 
circumstances  obliged  me,  the  expression  of  con 
cern  which  I  fancied  I  observed  in  your  look 
and  manner  would  have  encouraged  me  to  have 
been  explicit  at  the  time,  but  from  my  inability 
of  expressing  myself  verbally." 

She  then  goes  on  to  detail  precisely  her  pecu 
niary  circumstances,  by  which  it  appears  that 
her  whole  dependance  for  subsistence  was  on  an 
allowance  of  thirteen  pounds  a  year  from  her 
cousin,  who  bestowed  it  through  a  feeling  of 
pride,  lest  his  relative  should  come  upon  the  par 
ish.  During  two  years  this  pittance  had  been 
augmented  from  other  sources,  to  twenty  three 
pounds,  but  the  last  year  it  had  shrunk  within 
its  original  bounds,  and  was  yielded  so  grudg 
ingly,  that  she  could  not  feel  sure  of  its  continu 
ance  from  one  quarter  to  another.  More  than 
once  it  had  been  withheld  on  slight  pretences, 
and  she  was  in  constant  dread  lest  it  should  be 
entirely  withdrawn. 

"It  is  with  extreme  reluctance,"  observes  she, 
"  that  I  have  so  far  exposed  my  unfortunate  situ- 


220  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

ation ;  but  1  thought  you  expected  to  know  some 
thing  more  of  it,  and  I  feared  that  Colonel  Wild- 
man,  deceived  by  appearances,  might  think  that 
I  am  in  no  immediate  want,  and  that  the  delay 
of  a  few  weeks,  or  months,  respecting  the  in 
quiry,  can  be  of  no  material  consequence.  It  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  success  of  the  busi 
ness  that  Colonel  Wildman  should  know  the  ex 
act  state  of  my  circumstances  without  reserve, 
that  he  may  be  enabled  to  make  a  correct  re 
presentation  of  them  to  any  gentlemen  whom  he 
intends  to  interest,  who,  I  presume,  if  they  are 
not  of  America  themselves,  have  some  connex 
ions  there,  through  whom  my  friends  may  be 
convinced  of  the  reality  of  my  distress,  if  they 
pretend  to  doubt  it,  as  I  suppose  they  do  :  but 
to  be  more  explicit  is  impossible ;  it  would  be  too 
humiliating  to  particularize  the  circumstances  of 
the  embarrassment  in  which  I  am  unhappily  in 
volved — my  utter  destitution.  To  disclose  all 
might,  too,  be  liable  to  an  inference  which  I  hope  I 
am  not  so  void  of  delicacy,  of  natural  pride,  as  to 
endure  the  thought  of.  Pardon  me,  madam,  for 
thus  giving  trouble  where  I  have  no  right  to  do 
— compelled  to  throw  myself  upon  Colonel  Wild- 
man's  humanity,  to  entreat  his  earnest  exertions 
in  my  behalf,  for  it  is  now  my  only  resource. 
Yet  do  not  too  much  despise  me  for  thus  submit 
ting  to  imperious  necessity — it  is  not  love  of  life, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  221 

believe  me  it  is  not,  nor  anxiety  for  its  preserva 
tion.  I  cannot  say,  "There  are  things  that  make 
the  world  dear  to  me," — for  in  the  world  there 
is  not  an  object  to  make  me  wish  to  linger  here 
another  hour,  could  I  find  that  rest  and  peace  in 
the  grave  which  I  have  never  found  on  earth, 
and  I  fear  will  be  denied  me  there." 

Another  part  of  her  letter  developes  more  com 
pletely  the  dark  despondency  hinted  at  in  the 
conclusion  of  the  foregoing  extract — and  pre 
sents  a  lamentable  instance  of  a  mind  diseased, 
which  sought  in  vain,  amidst  sorrow  and  calam 
ity,  the  sweet  consolations  of  religious  faith. 

"  That  my  existence  has  hitherto  been  pro 
longed,"  says  she,  "  often  beyond  what  I  have 
thought  to  have  been  its  destined  period,  is  as 
tonishing  to  myself.  Often  when  my  situation 
has  been  as  desperate,  as  hopeless,  or  more  so, 
if  possible,  than  it  is  at  present,  some  unexpected 
interposition  of  Providence  has  rescued  me 
from  a  fate  that  has  appeared  inevitable.  I  do 
not  particularly  allude  to  recent  circumstances 
or  latter  years,  for  from  my  earlier  years  I  have 
been  the  child  of  Providence — then  why  should 
I  distrust  its  care  now.  I  do  not  distrust  it — 
neither  do  I  trust  it.  I  feel  perfectly  unanxious, 
unconcerned,  and  indifferent  to  the  future ;  but 
this  is  not  trust  in  Providence — not  that  trust 
which  alone  claims  its  protection.  I  know  this 
19* 


222  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

is  a  blameable  indifference — it  is  more — for  it 
reaches  to  the  interminable  future.  It  turns  al 
most  with  disgust  from  the  bright  prospects 
which  religion  offers  for  the  consolation  and  sup 
port  of  the  wretched,  and  to  which  I  was  early 
taught,  by  an  almost  adored  mother,  to  look  for 
ward  to  with  hope  and  joy  ;  but  to  me  they  can 
afford  no  consolation.  Not  that  I  doubt  the 
sacred  truths  that  religion  inculcates.  I  can 
not  doubt — though  I  confess  I  have  some 
times  tried  to  do  so,  because  I  no  longer  wish 
for  that  immortality  of  which  it  assures  us. 
My  only  wish  now  is  for  rest  and  peace — end 
less  rest.  '  For  rest — but  not  to  feel  'tis  rest,' 
but  I  cannot  delude  myself  with  the  hope  that 
such  rest  will  be  my  lot.  I  feel  an  internal  evi 
dence,  stronger  than  any  arguments  that  reason 
or  religion  can  enforce,  that  I  have  that  within 
me  which  is  imperishable  ;  that  drew  not  its 
origin  from  the  '  clod  of  the  valley.'  With  this 
conviction,  but  without  a  hope  to  brighten  the 
prospect  of  that  dread  future  : 

"  I  dare  not  look  beyond  the  tomb 
Yet  cannot  hope  for  peace  before." 

"  Such  an  unhappy  frame  of  mind,  I  am  sure, 
madam,  must  excite  your  commiseration.  It  is 
perhaps  owing,  in  part  at  least,  to  the  solitude 
in  which  I  have  lived.  I  may  say,  even  in  the 


NEWSTEAI)  AIJBEY.  223 

midst  of  society;  when  I  have  mixed  in.it ;  as  my 
infirmities  entirely  exclude  me  from  that  sweet 
intercourse  of  kindred  spirits — that  sweet  solace 
of  refined  conversation ;  the  little  intercourse  I 
have  at  any  time  with  those  around  me  cannot 
be  termed  conversation — they  are  not  kindred 
spirits — and  even  where  circumstances  have  as 
sociated  me  (but  rarely  indeed)  with  superior 
and  cultivated  minds,  who  have  not  disdained 
to  admit  me  to  their  society,  they  could  not  by 
all  their  generous  efforts,  even  in  early  youth, 
lure  from  my  dark  soul  the  thoughts  that  loved 
to  lie  buried  there,  nor  inspire  me  with  the  cou 
rage  to  attempt  their  disclosure  ;  and  yet  of  all 
the  pleasures  of  polished  life  which  fancy  has 
often  pictured  to  me  in  such  vivid  colours,  there 
is  not  one  that  I  have  so  ardently  coveted  as 
that  sweet  reciprocation  of  ideas,  the  supreme 
bliss  of  enlightened  minds  in  the  hour  of  social 
converse.  But  this  I  knew  was  not  decreed  for 
me — 

"  Yet  this  was  in  my  nature — " 

but  since  the  loss  of  my  hearing,  I  have  always 
been  incapable  of  verbal  conversation.  I  need 
not,  however,  inform  you,  madam,  of  this.  At 
the  first  interview  with  which  you  favoured  me, 
you  quickly  discovered  my  peculiar  unhappiness 
in  this  respect :  you  perceived  from  my  manner, 
that  any  attempt  to  draw  me  into  conversation 


224  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

would  be  in  vain — had  it  been  otherwise  perhaps 
you  would  not  have  disdained  now  and  then,  to 
have  soothed  the  lonely  wanderer  with  yours. 
I  have  sometimes  fancied,  when  I  have  seen  you 
in  the  walk,  that  you  seemed  to  wish  to  encou 
rage  me  to  throw  myself  in  your  way.  Pardon 
me  if  my  imagination,  too  apt  to  beguile  me  with 
such  dear  illusions,  has  deceived  me  into  too 
presumptuous  an  idea  here.  You  must  have  ob 
served  that  I  generally  endeavoured  to  avoid 
both  you  and  Colonel  Wildman.  It  was  to  spare 
your  geneorus  hearts  the  pain  of  witnessing  dis 
tress  you  could  not  alleviate.  Thus  cut  off,  as  it 
Were,  from  all  human  society,  I  have  been  com 
pelled  to  live  in  a  world  of  my  own,  and  cer 
tainly  with  the  beings  with  which  my  world  is 
peopled,  I  am  at  no  loss  to  converse.  But  though 
I  love  solitude  and  am  never  in  want  of  subjects 
to  amuse  my  fancy,  yet  solitude  too  much  indul 
ged  in  must  necessarily  have  an  unhappy  effect 
upon  the  mind,  which,  when  left  to  seek  for  re 
sources  solely  within  itself,  will  unavoidably,  in 
hours  of  gloom  and  despondency,  brood  over  cor. 
roding  thoughts  that  prey  upon  the  spirits,  and 
sometimes  terminate  in  confirmed  misanthropy — 
especially  with  those  who,  from  constitution,  or 
early  misfortunes,  are  inclined  to  melancholy, 
and  to  view  human  nature  in  its  dark  shades. 
And  have  I  not  cause  for  gloomy  reflections  ? 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  225 

The  utter  loneliness  of  my  lot  would  alone  have 
rendered  existence  a  curse  to  one  whose  heart 
nature  has  formed  glowing  with  all  the  warmth 
of  social  affection,  yet  without  an  object  on  which 
to  place.it — without  one  natural  connexion,  one 
earthly  friend  to  appeal  to,  to  shield  me  from  the 
contempt,  indignities,  and  insults,  to  which  my 
deserted  situation  continually  exposed  me." 

I  am  giving  long  extracts  from  this  letter,  yet  I 
cannot  refrain  from  subjoining  another,  which 
depicts  her  feelings  with  respect  to  Newstead. 

"  Permit  me,  madam,  again  to  request  your 
and  Colonel  Wildman's  acceptance  of  those  ac 
knowledgements  which  I  cannot  too  often  repeat, 
foryour  unexampled  goodness  to  a  rude  stranger. 
I  know  I  ought  not  to  have  taken  advantage  of 
your  extreme  good  nature  so  frequently  as  I 
have.  I  should  have  absented  myself  from 
your  garden  during  the  stay  of  the  company  at 
the  Abbey,  but,  as"  I  knew  I  must  be  gone  long 
before  they  would  leave  it,  I  could  not  deny  my 
self  the  indulgence,  as  you  so  freely  gave  me 
your  permission  to  continue  my  walks  ;  but  now 
they  are  at  an  end.  I  have  taken  my  last  fare 
well  of  every  dear  and  interesting  spot,  which  I 
now  never  hope  to  see  again,  unless  my  dis 
embodied  spirit  may  be  permitted  to  revisit 
them. — Yet  O  !  if  Providence  should  enable  me 
again  to  support  myself  with  any  degree  of  re- 


226  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

spectability,  and  you  should  grant  me  some  little 
humble  shed,  with  what  joy  shall  I  return  and 
renew  my  delightful  rambles.  But  dear  as 
Newstead  is  to  me,  I  will  never  again  come  under 
the  same  unhappy  circumstances  as  I  have  this 
last  time — never  without  the  means  of  at  least 
securing  myself  from  contempt.  How  dear,  how 
very  dear  Newstead  is  to  me,  how  unconquerable 
the  infatuation  that  possesses  me,  I  am  now 
going  to  give  a  too  convincing  proof.  In  offer 
ing  to  your  acceptance  the  worthless  trifles  that 
will  accompany  this,  I  hope  you  will  believe  that 
I  have  no  view  to  your  amusement.  I  dare  not 
hope  that  the  consideration  of  their  being  the 
products  of  your  own  garden  and  most  of  them 
written  there,  in  my  little  tablet,  while  sitting  at 
the  foot  of  my  Altar — I  could  not,  I  cannot  re 
sist  the  earnest  desire  of  leaving  this  memorial 
of  the  many  happy  hours  I  have  there  enjoyed. 
Oh !  do  not  reject  them,  madam ;  suffer  them 
to  remain  with  you,  and  if  you  should  deign  to 
honour  them  with  a  perusal,  when  you  read  them 
repress,  if  you  can,  the  smile  that  I  know  will 
too  naturally  arise,  when  you  recollect  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  wretched  being  who  has  dared 
to  devote  her  whole  soul  to  the  contemplation  of 
such  more  than  human  excellence.  Yet  ridicu 
lous  as  such  devotion  may  appear  to  some,  I 
must  take  leave  to  say,  that  if  the  sentiments 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY,  227 

which  I  have  entertained  for  that  exalted  being 
could  be  duly  appreciated,  I  trust  they  would 
be  found  to  be  of  such  a  nature  as  is  no  dishon 
our  even  for  him  to  have  inspired."  *  *  * 

"  I  arn  now  coming  to  take  a  last,  last  view 
of  scenes  too  deeply  impressed  upon  my  mem 
ory  ever  to  be  effaced  even  by  madness  itself. 
O  madam  !  may  you  never  know,  nor  be  able  to 
conceive  the  agony  I  endure  in  tearing  myself 
from  all  that  the  world  contains  of  dear  and  sa 
cred  to  me :  the  only  spot  on  earth  where  I  can 
ever  hope  for  peace  or  comfort — May  every 
blessing  the  world  has  to  bestow  attend  you,  or 
rather,  may  you  long,  long  live  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  delights  of  your  own  paradise,  in  secret 
seclusion  from  a  world  that  has  no  real  blessings 
to  bestow.  Now  I  go — but  O  might  I  dare  to 
hope  that  when  you  are  enjoying  these  blissful 
scenes,  a  thought  of  the  unhappy  wanderer  might 
sometimes  cross  your  mind,  how  soothing  would 
such  an  idea  be,  if  I  dared  to  indulge  it — could 
you  see  my  heart  at  this  moment,  how  needless 
would  it  be  to  assure  you  of  the  respectful  grati 
tude,  the  affectionate  esteem,  this  heart  must  ever 
bear  you  both." 

The  effect  of  this  letter  upon  the  sensitive 
heart  of  Mrs.  Wildman  may  be  more  readily 
conceived  than  expressed.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  give  a  home  to  this  poor  homeless  being, 


228  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

and  to  fix  her  in  the  midst  of  those  scenes  which 
formed  her  earthly  paradise.  She  communicated 
her  wishes  to  Colonel  Wildman,  and  they  met 
with  an  immediate  response  in  his  generous 
bosom.  It  was  settled  on  the  spot,  that  an 
apartment  should  be  fitted  up  for  the  Little 
White  Lady  in  one  of  the  new  farm  houses,  and 
every  arrangement  made  for  her  comfortable 
and  permanent  maintenance  on  the  estate. 
With  a  woman's  prompt  benevolence,  Mrs.  Wild 
man,  before  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  pillow, 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  the  destitute  stran 
ger: 

•'  Newstead  Abbey, 

Tuesday  night,  Sept.  20th,  1825. 

"  On  retiring  to  my  bed  chamber  this  evening 
I  have  opened  your  letter,  and  cannot  lose  a 
moment  in  expressing  to  you  the  strong  interest 
which  it  has  excited  both  in  Colonel  Wildman 
and  myself,  from  the  details  of  your  peculiar 
situation,  and  the  delicate,  and,  let  me  add,  ele 
gant  language  in  which  they  are  conveyed.  I 
am  anxious  that  my  note  should  reach  you  pre 
vious  to  your  departure  from  this  neighbourhood, 
and  should  be  truly  happy  if,  by  any  arrangement 
for  your  accomodation,  I  could  prevent  the  ne 
cessity  of  your  undertaking  the  journey.  Colo 
nel  Wildman  begs  me  to  assure  you  that  he  will 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  229 

use  his  best  exertion  in  the  "investigation  of  those 
matters  which  you  have  confided  to  him,  and 
should  you  remain  here  at  present,  or  return 
again  after  a  short  absence,  I  trust  we  shall 
find  means  to  become  better  acquainted,  and  to 
convince  you  of  the  interest  I  feel,  and  the  real 
satisfaction  it  would  afford  me  to  contribute  in 
any  way  to  your  comfort  and  happiness.  I  will 
only  now  add  my  thanks  for  the  little  packet  which 
I  received  with  your  letter,  and  I  must  confess 
that  the  letter  has  so  entirely  engaged  my  atten 
tion,  that  I  have  not  as  yet  had  time  for  the 
attentive  perusal  of  its  companion. 
Believe  me,  dear  madam, 
with  sincere  good  wishes, 
Yours  truly, 

LOUISA    WlLDMAN." 

Early  the  next  morning  a  servant  was  des 
patched  with  the  letter  to  the  Weir  Mill  farm, 
but  returned  with  the  information  that  the  Little 
White  Lady  had  set  off,  before  his  arrival,  in 
company  with  the  farmer's  wife,  in  a  cart  for 
Nottingham,  to  take  her  place  in  the  coach  for 
London.  Mrs.  Wildman  ordered  him  to  mount 
horse  instantly,  follow  with  all  speed,  and  deliver 
the  letter  into  her  hand  before  the  departure  of 
the  coach. 

The  bearer  of  good  tidings  spared  neither 
20 


230  NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

whip  nor  spur,  and  arrived  at  Nottingham  on  a 
gallop.  On  entering  the  town  a  crowd  ob 
structed  him  in  the  principal  street.  He  checked 
his  horse  to  make  his  way  through  it  quietly. 
As  the  crowd  opened  to  the  right  and  left,  he 
beheld  a  human  body  lying  on  the  pavement. — 
It  was  the  corpse  of  the  Little  White  Lady  ! 

It  seems  that  on  arriving  in  town  and  dis 
mounting  from  the  cart,  the  farmer's  wife  had 
parted  with  her  to  go  on  an  errand,  and  the 
White  Lady  continued  on  toward  the  coach- 
office.  In  crossing  a  street  a  cart  came  along 
driven  at  a  rapid  rate.  The  driver  called  out  to 
her,  but  she  was  too  deaf  to  hear  his  voice  or 
the  rattling  of  his  cart.  In  an  instant  she  was 
knocked  down  by  the  horse,  the  wheels  passed 
over  her  body,  and  she  died  without  a  groan. 


THE    ENL, 


1TE7T    BOOKS, 

LATELY  PUBLISHED 
BY    CAREY,    LEA    &    BLANC  HARD, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


Neatly  bound  in  Morrocco,  with  gilt  edges,  and  Plates  beauti 
fully  coloured, 

THE    LANGUAGE    OF    FLOWERS. 

"  By  all  those  token  flowers  that  tell 

What  words  can  never  speak  so  well." — BYRON. 

"  But  little  study  will  be  requisite  for  the  science  which  we  teach. 
Nature  has  been  before  us.  We  must,  however,  premise  two  or 
three  rules.  When  a  flower  is  presented  in  its  natural  position,  the 
sentiment  is  to  be  understood  affirmatively;  when  reversed,  nega 
tively.  For  instance,  a  rosebud,  with  its  leaves  and  thorns,  indicates 
fear  with  hope;  but,  if  reversed,  it  must  be  construed  as  saying, 
'  you  may  neither  fear  nor  hope.'  Again,  divest  the  same  rosebud 
of  its  thorns,  and  it  permits  the  most  sanguine  hope;  deprive  it  of  its 
petals,  and  retain  the  thorns,  and  the  worst  fears  are  to  be  appre 
hended.  The  expression  of  every  flower  may  be  thus  varied  by 
varying  its  state  or  position.  The  Marygold  is  emblematical  of 
pain;  place  it  on  the  head  and  it  signifies  trouble  of  mind;  on  the 
heart,  the  pangs  of  love;  on  the  bosom,  the  disgust  of  ennui.  The 
pronoun  I,  is  expressed  by  inclining  the  symbol  to  the  right,  and  the 
pronoun  thou,  by  inclining  it  to  the  left. 

"  These  are  a  few  of  the  rudiments  of  our  significant  language. 
We  call  upon  Friendship  and  Love  to  unite  their  discoveries  to 
ours;  for  it  is  in  the  power  only  of  these  sweetest  sentiments  of  our 
nature  to  bring  to  perfection  what  they  have  so  beautifully  invented, 
the  mystical,  yet  pleasing,  links  of  intelligence,  that  bind  the  soul 
in  the  tender  and  quiet  harmony  of  the  one,  or  in  the  more  impassion 
ed  felicity  of  the  other." — Preface  to  the  Language  of  Flowers. 


THE    STRANGER    IN    AMERICA, 

Comprising  Sketches  of  the  Manners,  Society,  and  National 
Peculiarities  of  the  United  States.  By  Francis  Leiber. 
1  vol.  8vo.  (republished  in  London.') 

"  The  author  of  these  volumes  is  probably  the  person  best  fitted  to 
•write  on  America.     In  truth,  we  have  read  no  work,  but  one  on  the 
1 


NEW    AMERICAN    NOVEL. 

THE    INSURGENTS,   a  new  American  and  Historical 
Novel,  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  This  story  is  founded  upon  the  insurrection  in  Massachusetts, 
during  the  year  1786,  known  more  generally  as  '  Shay's  War,'  which 
was  similar,  in  some  of  its  features  at  least,  to  the  rising  of  the 
'Whiskey  Boys'  in  Pennsylvania. 

"  The  Yankee  author  (for  that  he  is  a  Yankee,  no  one  can  doubt, 
who  observes  with  what  vraisemblance  he  uses  the  vernacular  idiom 
of  that  people)  has  given  a  very  amusing  detail  of  the  facts  connected 
with  that  struggle,  which  cannot  fail  to  prove  entertaining." — Sat. 
Evening  Post. 

"  The  characters  are  extremely  well  drawn — the  Yankee  talk  and 
manner  well-preserved — and  the  historical  narrative  faithfully  fol 
lowed.  It  is  evidently  the  work  of  a  full  and  well-disciplined  mind." 
— N.  Y.  American. 


IRVING'S    NEW    -WORK. 

THE  CRAYON  MISCELLANY,  Part  1,  containing  a 
Tour  on  the  Prairies,  by  the  Author  of  the  Sketch  Book, 
&c.  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  We  are  at  a  loss  in  what  terms  to  express  the  delight  with  which 
we  have  devoured  the  first  fruits  of  Mr.  Irving's  return  to  his  native 
land;  the  infinite  relish  with  which  we  have  gazed  upon  his  pictures 
of  the  fresh,  distant  region,  over  whose  vast  plains,  and  among  whose 
noble  streams  and  mighty  forests  he  has  wandered  with  the  eye  of  a 
painter,  and  the  soul  of  a  true  poet;  the  keen  interest  with  which  we 
nave  followed  him  in  his  adventures  among  half-breeds,  prairie 
wolves,  buffaloes,  black  bears,  wild  horses,  and  wilder  Indians.  In 
hurrying  through  his  pages — for  you  cannot  pause  for  a  moment, 
even  to  enjoy  more  perfectly — you  feel  as  though  you  were  in  bodily 
presence,  transported  by  the  wand  of  some  magician  to  the  spot. 
You  smile  at  the  indomitable  vapourings  of  the  magnanimous  To- 
nish,  as  if  they  were  ringing  in  your  ears;  the  red  man  stands  before 
you  with  his  noble  form  and  motionless  features,  schooled  to  exhibit 
no  trace  of  passion  or  of  feeling,  like  an  antique  statue  of  imperish 
able  bronze;  you  partake  in  the  excitement  of  the  scurrying  chase, 
and  feel  your  appetite  sharpened  to  a  ravenous  pitch,  as  you  dwell 
upon  the  description  of  extemporaneous  feasts — the  savoury  bison 
humps — haunches  of  fat  venison — wild  turkeys,  without  number — 
bear's  paws,  and  kettles  full  of  rich  honey,  just  plundered  from  the 
recesses  .of  a  mighty  bee-tree.  Then  the  sudden  alarm  of  wolves, 
wandering  hordes  of  predatory  Osages,  or  yet  more  formidable  Paw- 
nee-loups — the  casual  encounter  with  some  adventurous  Squatter — 
the  halt  after  a  long  day's  march — the  bivouac,  under  the  shelter  of 
enormous  trees  that  have  never  before  screened  the  face  of  a  white 
man  from  the  sun — the  gossip  of  hunters  and  rangers,  full  of  moving 
incidents,  by  field  and  flood.  These,  and  such  as  these,  are  the  novel 
charms  of  the  Crayon  Miscellany." — New  York  Mirror. 


CALAVAR. 

SECOND  EDITION. 

Calavar,  or  the  Knight  of  the  Conquest,  a  Romance  of  Mex 
ico,  by  Dr.  Bird,  in  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  This  is  an  American  novel  of  excellent  performance  and  high 
claims;  and  we  hope  that  all  the  novel  reading  public  of  our  conti 
nent  will  peruse  it  for  themselves,  and  award  to  a  native  production 
of  more  than  ordinary  merit,  that  meed  of  approbation  which  its  own 
merits  may  deserve,  a  feeling  of  patriotic  pride  towards  a  successful 
effort  of  American  genius,  may  suggest. 

"As  the  admirable  novel  now  under  review  is  destined,  in  our 
opinion,  to  be  extensively  read  and  highly  appreciated,  a  few  words 
in  relation  to  the  character  of  Cortez  as  drawn  by  his  own  country 
man,  will  no  doubt  be  acceptable,  as  the  description  may  enable  those 
who  cannot  have  access  to  the  histories  of  that  day,  to  judge  of  the 
fidelity  with  which  the  author  has  drawn  his  pictures. 

"  In  selecting  this  portion  of  history  as  the  ground  work  of  his 
novel,  Dr.  Bird  has  shown  much  sagacity  and  good  taste,  and  it  has 
offered  him  the  opportunity  of  conducting  his  reader  through  scenes 
whicli  are  full  of  marvel,  while  they  are  entirely  unhacknied  by  the 
pen  of  fiction. — Hall's  Western  Monthly  Magazine." 


THE  INFIDEL,  OR  THE  FALL  OF  MEXICO.     By  DR. 

BIRD,  author  of  CALAVAR.  2  vols.  12mo. 
"This  is  a  work  which  will  even  increase  the  reputation  of  the 
author  of  GALA  v  AH.  We  confidently  predict  its  full  success  at  home 
and  abroad.  Original  strength  and  justness  of  conception  and  ex 
pression  distinguish  the  performances  of  Dr.  Bird;  they  are  imbued, 
too,  with  an  interest  for  all  readers  and  times." — JVai.  Gaz. 


Second  Edition  of 

SKETCHES  OF  SOCIETY  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN 
AND  IRELAND.  By  C.  S.  STEWART,  M.  A.,  Chaplain 
of  the  United  States'  Navy,  author  of  "A  Visit  to  the 
South  Seas,"  "  A  Residence  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,"  &c. 
in  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  Some  of  his  sketches  are  beautiful  descriptions;  others  are  finish 
ed  pictures.  The  charm  of  these  volumes  consists  in  the  distinct 
view  which  the  author  gives  us  of  the  scenery,  the  country,  the  cities 
and  towns,  the  aristocracy,  the  churches, — in  one  word,  the  thousand 
particulars,  which,  together,  constitute  what  is  called  the  state  of  so 
ciety." — Religious  Telegraph. 

"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  work  with  so  pleasant  an  interest. 
The  contents  are  various  and  racy,  epistolary  transcripts  of  the  au 
thor's  mind,  published  just  as  written,  without  revisions,  and  with  all 
the  gloss  and  freshness  of  first  and  original  impressions  about  them. 
The  work^s  full  of  living  pictures." 


ROOKWOOD,  a  Romance.     By  W.  Harrison  Ainsworth. 
From  the  second  London  edition,  in  2  vols.  12  mo. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  and  romantic  of  '  the  seasons' 
production.  Full  of  life  and  fire,  it  excites  the  reader  and  carries 
him  onward — much  as  the  true  heroine  of  the  tale,  the  mare  Black 
Bess,  does  the  true  hero  of  it,  the  ROBBEB  TUHPIN — with  mingled 
sensations  of  terror  and  delight.  It  is  a  wild  story,  told  with  exceed 
ing  skill,  and  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  which  so  singular  a 
subject  is  capable.  The  book  is  an  excellent  one,  and  the  author 
may  take  a  high  station  among  the  romance  writers  of  our  time." — 
JV  evi  Monthly  Magazine. 

'  Will  have  a  nuif,  in  the  true  Turpian  style. " — 'Fraser's  Maga- 
zi  e. 

'  This  story  never  flags." — Quar.  Review. 

'  Possesses  great  variety  of  talent. " — Lit.  Gazette. 

'  Exhibits  great  power  and  strong  interest." — Morning  Post. 

'  Will  be  extensively  read  and  admired." — Courier. 

•'  Will  interest  and  amuse  readers  of  every  class." — JVevr  Sport 
ing'  Magazine. 

"  The  work  is  eminently  "  spirited  and  stirring" — and,  with  some 
of  the  extravagance,  has  more  of  the  life,  variety,  force,  and  general 
interest  of  the  romance  of  the  old  English  school,  than  any  similar 
production  of  the  present  day,  which  has  fallen  into  our  hands." — 
Nat.  Gazette. 


FORTUNES  OF  PERKIN  WARBECK,  a  Romance,  by 

Mrs.  Shelly,  author  of  "  Frankenstein,"  &c.  &c.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

' '  We  must  content  ourselves  by  commending  the  good  use  our 
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ing  on  every  possible  subject,  so  arranged  as  to  be  speedily  and  safety  referred  to 
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CABINET  CYCLOPAEDIA, 

CONDUCTED  BY   THE 

REV.  DIONYSIUS  LARDNER,  LL.D.  F.R.S.  L.&.E. 

M.  R.I.A.  F.L.S.   F.Z.S.  Hon.F.  C.P.  S.  M.  Ast.  S.  &c.  &c. 

ASSISTED  BY 

EMINENT  LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC  MEN. 


Now  Publishing  by  Carey,  Lea,  fy  Blanchard,  and  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers 

Tins  work  will  form  a  popular  compendium  of  whatever  is  useful,  instructive, 
and  interesting,  in  the  circle  of  human  knowledge.  A  novel  plan  of  publication 
and  arrangement  has  been  adopted,  which  presents  peculiar  advantages.  With 
out  fully  detailing  the  method,  a  few  of  these  advantages  may  be  mentioned. 

Each  volume  will  contain  one  or  more  subjects  uninterrupted  and  unbroken, 
and  will  be  accompanied  by  the  corresponding  plates  or  other  appropriate  illus 
trations.  Facility  of  reference  will  be  obtained  without  fettering  the  work  by 
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umes  or  sets  of  volumes,  without  disintegrating  his  series.  Thus  each  purchaser 
may  form  from  the  "CABINET"  a  Cyclopaedia,  more  or  less  comprehensive,  as 
may  suit  his  means,  taste,  or  profession.  If  a  subscriber  desire  to  discontinue 
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The  purchasers  will  never  find  their  property  in  this  work  destroyed  by  the 
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umes  may  be  re-edited  or  re-written  without  disturbing  the  others.  The  "CABI 
NET  CYCLOPEDIA"  will  thus  be  in  a  state  of  continual  renovation,  keeping  pace 
with  the  never-ceasing  improvements  in  knowledge,  drawing  within  its  cirele 
from  year  to  year  whatever  is  new,  and  casting  off  whatever  is  obsolete,  so  as  to 
form  a  constantly  modernized  Cyclopaedia.  Such  are  a  few  of  the  advantages 
which  the  proprietors  have  to  offer  to  the  public,  and  which  they  pledge  them 
selves  to  realize. 

Treatises  on  subjects  which  are  technical  and  professional  will  be  adapted, 
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who  seek  that  portion  of  information  respecting  such  matters  which  is  generally 
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Complete  Library,  affording  an  extensive  and  infinitely  varied  store  of  instruc 
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To  the  heads  of  schools  and  all  places  of  public  education  the  proprietors  trust 
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It  seems  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  nothing  will  be  admitted  into  the 
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or  pupils. 


LARDNER  S  CABINET  CYCLOPAEDIA. 


"  IT  IS  NOT  EASY  TO  DEVISE  A  CORE  FOR  SDCH  A  STATE  OF  THINGS  (THE  DE- 
CIININO  TASTE  FOR  SCIENCE))  BUT  THE  MOST  OBVIOUS  REMEDY  IS  TO  PROVIDE 
THE  EDUCATED  CLASSES  WITH  A  SERIES  OF  WORKS  ON  POPULAR  AND  PRACTI 
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AND  EXPERIMENTS,  WHICH  ARE  LEVEL  TO  THE  CAPACITY  OF  ORDINARY  MINDS." 

Quarterly  Review. 


PRELIMINARY  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  OBJECTS,  ADVAN 
TAGES,  AND  PLEASURES  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  NATU 
RAL  PHILOSOPHY.  By  J.  T.  W.  Herschel,  A.  M.  late  Fel 
low  of  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge* 

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umes  issued  in  the  form  of  cabinet  and  family  libraries,  it  is,  perhaps,  not  too 
much  to  place  at  the  head  of  the  list,  for  extent  and  variety  of  condensed  infor 
mation,  Mr.  Herchel's  discourse  of  Natural  Philosophy  in  Dr.  Lardner's  Cyclo- 
pzdia." — Christian  Observer. 

"  The  finest  work  of  philosophical  genius  which  this  age  has  seen." — Mackin 
tosh's  England. 

"  By  far  the  most  delightful  book  to  which  the  existing  competition  bet-veen 
literary  rivals  of  great  talent  and  enterprise  has  given  rise." — Monthly  Review. 

"  Mr.  HerschePs  delightful  volume.  *  *  *  We  find  scattered  through  the 
work  instances  of  vivid  and  happy  illustration,  where  the  fancy  is  usefully  called 
into  action,  so  as  sometimes  to  remind  us  of  the  splendid  pictures  which  crowd 
upon  us  in  the  style  of  Bacon." — Quarterly  Review. 

"  It  is  the  most  exciting  volume  of  the  kind  we  ever  met  with." — Monthly 
Magazine. 

"  One  of  the  most  instructive  and  delightful  books  we  have  ever  perused."— 
U.  S.  Journal. 


A   TREATISE    ON   MECHANICS.     By  Capt.  Kater,  and  the 
Rev.  Dionysius  Lardiier.    "With  numerous  engravings. 

"  A  work  which  contains  an  uncommon  amount  of  useful  information,  ex 
hibited  in  a  plain  and  very  intelligible  form." — Olmsted's  Nat.  Philosophy. 

"  This  volume  has  been  lately  published  in  England,  as  a  part  of  Dr.  Lardner's 
Cabinet  Cyclopedia,  and  has  received  the  unsolicited  approbation  of  the  most 
eminent  men  of  science,  and  the  most  discriminating  journals  and  reviews,  in 
the  British  metropolis. — It  is  written  in  a  popular  and  intelligible  style,  entirely 
free  from  mathematical  symbols,  and  disencumbered  as  far  as  possible  of  tech 
nical  phrases." — Boston  Traveller. 

"  Admirable  in  development  and  clear  in  principles,  and  especially  felicitous  in 
illustration  from  familiar  subjects." — Monthly  Mag. 


OUTLINES  OF  HISTORY,  from  the  earliest  period  to  the 
present  time. 


A    TREATISE    ON    HYDROSTATICS    AND    PNEUMATICS. 
By  the  Rev.  D.  Lardner.    \Vith  numerous  engravings. 


LARDNER'S  CABINET  CYCLOPAEDIA. 


HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.    By  Sir  James  Mackintosh.    In 
8  Vols.    Vols.  I,  H  and  3  published. 

"In  the  first  volume  of  Sir  'James  Mackintosh's  History  of  England,  wo 
find  enough  to  warrant  the  anticipations  of  the  public,  that  a  calm  and  lumin 
ous  philosophy  will  diffuse  itself  over  the  long  narrative  of  our  British  His 
tory." — Edinburgh  Review. 

"  In  this  volume  Sir  James  Mackintosh  fully  developes  those  great  powers, 
for  the  possession  of  which  the  public  have  long  given  him  credit.  The  result 
is  the  ablest  commentary  that  has  yet  appeared  in  our  language  upon  some 
of  the  most  important  circumstances  of  English  History." — Atlas. 

"Worthy  in  the  method,  style,  and  reflections,  of  the  author's  high  reputa 
tion.  We  were  particularly  pleased  with  his  high  vein  of  philosophical  sen 
timent,  and  his  occasional  survey  of  contemporary  annals." — JVaf.  Gazette. 

"  If  talents  of  the  highest  order,  long  experience  in  politics,  and  years  of 
application  to  the  study  of  history  and  the  collection  of  information,  can  com 
mand  superiority  in  a  historian,  Sir  James  Machintosh  may,  without  reading 
this  work,  be  said  to  have  produced  the  best  history  of  this  country.  A  peru 
sal  of  the  work  will  prove  that  those  who  anticipated  a  superior  production, 
have  not  reckoned  in  vain  on  the  high  qualifications  of  the  author."— Courier. 


THE 


HISTORY  OF  THE  NETHERLANDS,  to  the  Battle  of 
•Waterloo.    By  T.  C.  Grattan. 


La  Belle  jlssemblee. 

"  Never  did  work  appear  at  a  more  fortunate  period.  The  volume  before  us 
is  a  compressed  but  clear  and  impartial  narrative." — Lit.  Qaz, 


HISTORY  OF  FRANCE.  By  Eyre  Evans  Crowe.  In  3  vols. 

"  His  history  of  France  is  worthy  to  figure  with  the  works  of  his  associates, 
the  best  of  their  day,  Scott  and  Mackintosh." — Monthly  Mag. 

"  For  such  a  task  Mr.  Crowe  is  eminently  qualified.  At  a  glance,  as  it  were, 
iis  eye  takes  in  the  theatre  of  centuries.     His  style  is  neat,  clear,  and  pithy; 


and  his  power  of  condensation  enables  him  to  say  much,  and  effectively,  in  a 
few  words,  to  present  a  distinct  and  perfect  picture  in  a  narrowly  circum 
scribed  space." — La  Belle  Jlssemblee. 


HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND.    By  Sir  "Walter  Scott.  In  2  Vols. 

"  The  History  of  Scotland,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  de 
clare,  will  be,  if  possible,  rnnre  extensively  read,  than  the  most  popular  work 
of  fiction,  by  the  same  prolific  author,  and  for  this  obvious  reason  :  it  com 
bines  much  of  the  brilliant  coloring  of  the  Ivanhoe  pictures  of  by-gone  man 
ners,  and  all  the  graceful  facility  of  style  and  picturesqueness  of  description 
of  his  other  charming  romances,  with  a  minute  fidelity  to  the  facts  of  history, 
and  a  searching  scrutiny  into  their  authenticity  and  relative  value,  which 
might  put  to  the  blush  Mr.  Hume  and  other  professed  historians.  Such  is  the 
magic  charm  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  pen,  it  has  only  to  touch  the  simplest  inci 
dent  of  every-day  life,  and  it  starts  up  invested  with  all  the  interest  of  a  scene 
of  romance ;  and  yet  such  is  his  fidelity  to  the  text  of  nature,  that  the  knights 
and  serfs,  and  collared  fools  with  whom  his  inventive  genius  has  peopled  so 
many  volumes,  are  regarded  by  us  as  not  mere  creations  of  fancy,  but  as  real 
flesh  and  blood  existences,  with  all  the  virtues,  feelings  and  errors  of  com 
mon-place  humanity." — Lit.  Gazette. 


LARDNER  S  CABINET  CYCLOPEDIA. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  RISE,  PROGRESS,  AND  PRESENT 
STATE  OF  THE  SILK  MANUFACTURE ;  with  numerous 
engravings. 

"It  contains  abundant  information  in  every  department  of  this  interesting 
branch  of  human  industry — in  the  history,  culture,  and  manufacture  of  silk." — 
Monthly  Magazine. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  curious  information  in  this  little  volume."— Lit.  Oaz. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  ITALIAN  REPUBLICS;  being  a  View  of 
the  Rise,  Progress,  and  Fall  of  Italian  Freedom.  By  J.  C.  L. 
DE  SISMONDI. 

"  The  excellencies,  defects,  and  fortunes  of  the  governments  of  the  Italian 
commonwealths,  form  a  body  ef  the  most  valuable  materials  for  political  phi 
losophy.  It  is  time  that  they  should  be  accessible  to  the  American  people,  as 
they  are  about  to  be  rendered  in  Sismondi's  masterly  abridgment.  He  has  done 
for  his  large  work,  what  Irving  accomplished  so  weJl  for  his  Life  of  Columbus." 
— National  Gazette. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  RISE,  PROGRESS,  AND  PRESENT 
STATE  OF  THE  MANUFACTURES  OF  PORCELAIN  AND 
GLASS.  With  numerous  Wood  Cuts. 

"  In  the  design  and  execution  of  the  work,  the  author  has  displayed  consider 
able  judgment  and  skill,  and  has  so  disposed  of  his  valuable  materials  as  to  ren 
der  the  book  attractive  and  instructive  to  the  general  class  of  readers." — Sat. 
Evening  Post. 

"  The  author  has,  by  a  popular  treatment,  made  it  one  of  the  most  interesting 
books  that  has  been  issued  of  this  series.  There  are,  we  believe,  few  of  the 
useful  arts  less  generally  understood  than  those  of  porcelain  and  glass  making. 
These  are  completely  illustrated  by  Dr.  Lardner,  and  the  various  processes  of 
forming  differently  fashioned  utensils,  are  fully  described." 

BIOGRAPHY  OF  BRITISH  STATESMEN;  containing  the 
Lives  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  by  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH; 
Cardinal  Wolsey,  Archbishop  Cranmer,  and  Lord  Burleigh. 

"  A  very  delightful  volume,  and  on  a  subject  likely  to  increase  in  interest 
as  it  proceeds.  *  *  *  We  cordially  commend  the  work  both  for  its  design  and 
execution." — London  Lit.  Oazette. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  SPAIN  AND  PORTUGAL.     In  5  vols. 

"  A  general  History  of  the  Spanish  and  Portuguese  Peninsula,  is  a  great  de 
sideratum  in  our  language,  and  we  are  glad  to  see  it  begun  under  such  favorable 
auspices.  We  have  seldom  met  with  a  narrative  which  fixes  attention  more 
steadily,  and  bears  the  reader's  mind  along  more  pleasantly." 

"  In  the  volumes  before  us,  there  is  unquestionable  evidence  of  capacity  for 
the  task,  and  research  in  the  execution." — U.  S.  Journal. 

"  Of  course  this  work  can  be  but  an  abridgment ;  but  we  know  not  where  so 
much  ability  has  been  shown  in  condensation.  It  is  unequalled,  and  likely 
long  to  remain  so.  **  We  were  convinced,  on  the  publication  of  the  first  vol 
ume,  that  it  was  no  common  compilation,  manufactured  to  order;  we  were  pre 
pared  to  announce  it  as  a  very  valuable  addition  ta  our  literature.  *  *  *  Our 
last  words  must  be,  heartily  to  recommend  it  to  our  readers." — Jlthente-um. 

HISTORY  OF  SWITZERLAND. 

"  Like  the  preceding  historical  numbers  of  this  valuable  publication,  it 
abounds  with  interesting  details,  illustrative  of  the  habits,  character,  and  polit 
ical  complexion  of  the  people  and  country  it  describes ;  and  affords,  in  the  small 
space  of  one  volume,  a  digest  of  all  the  important  facts  which,  in  more  elaborate 
histories,  occupy  five  times  the  space." — Evening  Post. 


CABINET  LIBRARY. 


No.  1.— NARRATIVE  OF  THE  LATE  WAR  IN  GER 
MANY  AND  FRANCE.  By  the  MARQUESS  OF  LONDON 
DERRY.  With  a  Map. 

No.  2.— JOURNAL  OF  A  NATURALIST,  with  plates. 

No.  3.— AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT, 
With  a  portrait. 

No.  4.— MEMOIRS  OF  SIR  WALTER  RALEGH.  By  Mrs. 
A.  T.  THOMSON. 

No.  5.— LIFE  OF  BELISARIUS.    By  Lord  MAHON. 

MILITARY  MEMOIRS  OF  THK  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 
By  CAPT.  MOYLE  SHERER,  Author  of  Recollections  of  the 
Peninsula.  In  2  vols.  18mo. 


GLEANINGS  IN  NATURAL  HISTORY,  being  a  Companion 
to  the  Journal  of  a  Naturalist. 

"The  Cabinet  Library  bids  fair  to  be  a  series  of  great  value,  and  is  recom 
mended  to  public  and  private  libraries,  to  professional  men,  and  miscellaneous 
readers  generally.  It  is  beautifully  printed,  and  furnished  at  a  price  which  will 
place  it  within  the  reach  of  all  classes  of  society." — American  Traveller. 

"The  series  of  instructive,  and,  in  their  original  form,  expensive  works, 
which  these  enterprising  publishers  are  now  issuing  under  the  title  of  the 
"  Cabinet  Library,"  is  a  fountain  of  useful,  and  almost  universal  knowledge  ; 
the  advantages  of  which,  in  forming  the  opinions,  tastes  and  manners  of  that 
portion  of  society,  to  which  this  varied  information  is  yet  new,  cannot  be  too 
highly  estimated." — National  Journal. 

"  Messrs.  Carey  and  Lea  have  commenced  a  series  of  publications  under  the 
above  title,  which  are  to  appear  monthly,  and  which  seem  likely,  from  the  spe 
cimen  before  us,  to  acquire  (i  high  degree  of  popularity,  and  to  afford  a  mass  of 
various  information  and  rich  entertainment,  at  once  eminently  useful  and 
strongly  attractive.  The  mechanical  execution  is  fine,  the  paper  and  typography 
excel len t." — Nashville  Banner. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  WALTER  RALEGH, 
with,  some  Account  of  the  Period  in  which  he  lived.  By 
MRS.  A.  T.  THOMSON.  With,  a  Portrait. 

"Such  is  the  outline  of  a  life,  which,  in  Mrs.  Thomson's  hands,  is  a  mine  of 
interest:  from  the  first  page  to  the  last  the  attention  is  roused  and  sustained, 
and  while  we  approve  the  manner,  we  still  more  applaud  the  spirit  in  which  it 
is  executed." — Literary  Gazette. 


CABINET  LIBRARY. 


JOURNAL  OF  A  NATURALIST.    With  Plates. 

Plants,  trees,  and  stones  we  note ; 

Birds,  insects,  beasts,  and  rural  things. 

"We  again  most  strongly  recommend  this  little  unpretending  volume  to  the 
attention  of  every  lover  of  nature,  and  more  particularly  of  our  country  read 
ers.  It  will  induce  them,  we  are  sure,  to  examine  more  closely  than  they  have 
been  accustomed  to  do,  into  the  objects  of  animated  nature,  and  such  examina 
tion  will  prove  one  of  the  most  innocent,  and  the  most  satisfactory  sources  of 
gratification  and  amusement.  It  is  a  book  that  ought  to  find  its  way  into  every 
rural  drawing-room  in  the  kingdom,  and  one  that  may  safely  be  placed  in  every 
lady's  boudoir,  be  her  rank  and  station  in  life  what  they  may." — Quarterly  Re 
view,  No.  LXXVIIL 

"We  think  that  there  are  few  readers  who  will  not  be  delighted  (we  are  cer 
tain  all  will  be  instructed)  by  the  'Journal  of  a  Naturalist.'  " — Monthly  Review 

"  This  is  a  most  delightful  book  on  trie  moat  delightful  of  all  studies.  We  are 
acquainted  with  no  previous  work  which  bears  any  resemblance  to  this,  except 
'  White's  History  of  Selborne,'  the  most  fascinating  piece  of  rural  writing  and 
sound  English  philosophy  that  ever  issued  from  the  press." — Athenaeum. 

"The  author  of  the  volume  now  before  us,  has  produced  one  of  the  most 
charming  volumes  we  remember  to  have  seen  for  a  long  time." — Neic  Month 
ly  Magazine,  June,  1829. 

"  A  delightful  volume — perhaps  the  most  so — nor  loss  instructive  and  amusing 
— given  to  Natural  History  since  White's  Selborne." — Blackwoocfs  Magazine. 

"  The  Journal  of  a  Naturalist,  being  the  second  number  of  Carey  and  Lea's 
beautiful  edition  of  the  Cabinet  Library,  is  the  best  treatise  on  subjects  con 
nected  with  this  train  of  thought,  that  we  have  for  a  long  time  perused,  and  we 
are  not  at  all  surprised  that  it  should  have  received  so  high  and  flattering  enco 
miums  from  the  English  press  generally." — Boston  Traveller. 

"Furnishing  an  interesting  and  familiar  account  of  the  various  objects  of 
animated  nature,  but  calculated  to  afford  both  instruction  and  entertainment." 
— Nashville  Banner. 

"One  of  the  most  agreeable  works  of  its  kind  in  the  language." — Courier  de 
la  Louisicine. 

"  It  abounds  with  numerous  and  curious  facts,  pleasing  illustrations  of  the 
secret  operations  and  economy  of  nature,  and  satisfactory  displays  of  the  powi.-r, 
wisdom  and  goodness,  of  the  great  Creator."—  Philad.  Album. 


THE  MARQ,ITESS  OP  LONDONDERRY'S  NARRATIVE  OF 
THE  LATE  WAR  IN  GERMANY  AND  FRANCE.  With  a 
Map. 

"  No  history  of  the  events  to  which  it  relates  can  be  correct  without  reference 
to  its  statements." — Literary  Gazette. 

"  The  events  detailed  in  this  volume  cannot  fail  to  excite  an  intense  interest." 
— Dublin  Literary  Gazette. 

"The  only  connected  and  well  authenticated  account  we  have  of  the  spirit- 
stirring  scenes  which  preceded  the  fall  of  Napoleon.  It  introduces  us  into  the 
cabinets  and  presence  of  the  allied  monarclis.  We  observe  the  secret  policy  of 
each  individual :  we  sec  the  course  pursued  by  the  wily  Bernadotte,  the  tempo 
rizing  Metternich,  and  the  ambitious  Alexander.  The  work  deserves  a  place  in 
every  historical  library." — Olobe. 

"We  hail  with  pleasure  the  appearance  of  the  first  volume  of  the  Cabinet 
Library."  "  The  author  had  singular  facilities  for  obtaining  the  materials  of 
his  work,  and  he  has  introduced  us  to  the  movements  and  measures  of  cabinets 
which  have  hitherto  been  hidden  from  the  world." — American  Traveller. 

"  It  may  be  regarded  as  tho  most  authentic  of  all  the  publications  which  pro 
fess  to  detail  the  events  of  the  important  campaigns,  terminating  with  tha! 
which  secured  the  capture  of  the  French  metropolis." — Nat.  Journal. 

"  It  is  in  fact  the  only  authentic  account  of  the  memorable  events  to  which 
it  refers."— Nashville  Banner. 

"  The  work  deserves  a  place  in  every  library."— Philadelphia  Album. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


VOYAGES  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  COMPANIONS  OF 
COLUMBUS.  By  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  Author  of  the  Life 
of  Columbus,  &c.  1  vol.  8vo. 

"  Of  the  main  work  we  may  repeat  that  it  possesses  the  value  of  important 
history  and  the  magnetism  of  romantic  adventure.  It  sustains  in  every  respect 
the  reputation  of  Irving."  "  We  may  hope  that  the  gifted  author  will  treat  in  like 
manner  the  enterprises  and  exploits  of  Pizarro  and  Cortes  ;  and  thus  complete  a 
series  of  elegant  recitals,  which  will  contribute  to  the  especial  gratification  of 
Americans,  and  form  an  imperishable  fund  of  delightful  instruction  for  all  ages 
and  countries." — JVaJ.  Gazette. 

"  As  he  leads  us  from  one  savage  tribe  to  another,  as  he  paints  successive 
scenes  of  heroism,  perseverance  and  self-denial,  as  he  wanders  among  the  mag 
nificent  scenes  of  nature,  as  he  relates  with  scrupulous  fidelity  the  errors,  and 
the  crimes,  even  of  those  whose  lives  are  for  the  most  part  marked  with  traits 
to  command  admiration.'and  perhaps  esteem — everywhere  we  find  him  the  same 
umleviating,  but  beautiful  moralist,  gathering  from  every  incident  some  lesson 
to  present  in  striking  language  to  the  reason  and  the  heart." — Am..  Quarterly 
Review. 

"  This  is  a  delightful  volume;  for  the  preface  truly  says  that  the  expeditions 
narrated  and  springing  out  of  the  voyages  of  Columbus  may  be  compared  with 
attempts  of  adventurous  knights-errant  to  achieve  the  enterprise  left  unfinished 
by  some  illustrious  predecessors.  Washington  Irving's  name  is  a  pledge  how 
well  their  stories  will  be  told :  and  we  only  regret  that  we  must  of  necessity  de- 
fur  our  extracts  for  a  week." — London  Lit.  Gazette. 

A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRENADA.  By 
WASHINGTON  IRVING,  Esq.  In  2  vols. 

"  On  the  whole,  this  work  will  sustain  the  high  fame  of  Washington  Irving. 
It  fills  a  blank  in  the  historical  library  which  ought  not  to  have  remained  so 
long  a  blank.  The  language  throughout  is  at  once  chaste  and  animated  ;  and 
the  narrative  may  be  said,  like  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen,  to  present  one  long  gal- 
lory  of  splendid  pictures." — Land.  Lit.  Gazette. 

THE  ALHAMBRA;  a  Series  of  Tales  and  Sketches  of  the 
Moors  arid  Spaniards.  By  the  author  of  the  Sketch-Book.  In 
2  vols. 

"  We  have  read  a  part  of  Washington  Irving's  new  Sketch-Book,  the  scene 
of  which  is  in  Spain,  the  most  romantic  of  European  countries,  and  the  best 
known  by  the  gifted  author.  His  style  has  lost  nothing  of  its  peculiar  charm 
— his  descriptions  are  as  graphic  as  usual,  and  enlivened  with  racy  anecdotes 
ami  happy  reflection.  We  shall  probably  soon  furnish  a  specimen  of  this 
work,  from  the  whole  of  which  we  expect  gratification."— JVat.  Gazette. 

New  Editions  of  the  following  Works  by  the  same  Author. 
THE  SKETCH  BOOK,  2  vols.  12mo. 

KNICKERBOCKER'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK,  revised 
and  corrected.  2  vols. 

BRACEBRIDGE  HALL,  OR  THE  HUMORISTS,  2  vols.  12mo. 
TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER,  2  vols.  12mo. 


BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS,  a  Tale  of  the  Lower  Empire. 
By  the  Author  of  Waverley.     In  3  vols. 

"The  reader  will  at  once  perceive  that  the  subject,  the  chnracters  and  the 
scenes  of  action,  could  not  have  been  better  selected  for  the  display  of  the  vari 
ous  and  unequalled  powers  of  the  author.  All  that  is  glorious  in  arts  and  splen 
did  in  arms — the  glitter  of  armor,  the  pomp  of  war,  and  the  splendor  of  chivalry 
— the  gorgeous  scenery  of  tire  liospliorus — the  ruins  of  Byzantium — the  magnifi 
cence  of  the  Grecian  capital,  and  the  richness  and  voluptuousness  of  the  imi*1- 
rial  court,  will  rise  before  the  reader  in  a  succession  of  beautiful  and  dazzling 
images." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.     With  a 

Portrait. 
HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND,     In  2  vols. 

"  The  History  of  Scotland,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  declare, 
will  be,  if  possible,  more  extensively  read,  than  the  most  popular  work  of  fiction, 
by  the  same  prolific  author,  and  for  this  obvious  reason:  it  combines  much  of  the 
brilliant  coloring  of  the  Ivanhoe  pictures  of  by-gone  manners,  and  all  the  grace 
ful  facility  of  style  and  picturesqueness  of  description  of  his  other  charniiii!.'  ro 
mances,  with  a  minute  fidelity  to  the  facts  of  history,  and  a  searching  scrutiny 
into  their  authenticity  and  relative  value,  which  might  put  to  the  blush  Mr. 
Hume  and  other  professed  historians.  Such  is  the  magic  charm  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  pen,  it  has  only  to  touch  the  simplest  incident  of  every-day  life,  and  it  starts 
up  invested  with  all  the  interest  of  a  scene  of  romance  ;  and  yet  such  is  his  fideli 
ty  to  the  text  of  nature,  that  the  knights,  and  serfs,  and  collared  fools  with  whom 
his  inventive  genius  has  peopled  so  many  volumes,  are  regarded  by  us  as  not 
mere  creations  of  fancy,  but  as  real  flesh  and  blood  existences,  with  all  the  vir 
tues,  feelings  and  errors  of  common-place  humanity." — Lit.  Gazette. 

TALES  OF  A  GRANDFATHER,  being  a  series  from  French 
History.     By  the  Author  of  WAVERLEY. 

BY  MR.  COOPER. 


THE  BRAVO.  By  the  Author  of  the  SPY,  PILOT,  &c.  In  2  vols. 

THE  WATER- WITCH,  OR  THE  SKIMMER  OF  THE  SEAS. 

THE  HEADSMAN,  OR  THE  ABBAYE  DES  VIGNERONS. 
In  2  vols.  12mo. 

THE  HEIDENMAUER;  OR  THE  BENEDICTINES.   In  2  vols. 
New  Editions  of  the  following  Works  by  the  same  Author 

NOTIONS  OF  THE  AMERICANS,  by  a  Travelling  Bachelor, 

2  vols.  12mo. 

THE  WEPT  OF  WISH-TON-WISH,  2  vols.  12mo. 
THE  RED  ROVER,  2  vols.  12mo. 
THE  SPY,  2  vols.  12mo. 
THE  PIONEERS,  2  vols.  12mo. 
THE  PILOT,  a  Tale  of  the  Sea,  2  vols.  12mo. 
LIONEL  LINCOLN,  OR  THE  LEAGUER  OF  BOSTON,  2  voTs 
THE  LAST  OF  THE  MOHICANS,  2  vols.  12mo. 
THE  PRAIRIE,  2  vols.  12rno. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE  ALHAMBRA;  a  Series  of  Tales  ard  Sketches  of  the  Moors 
and  Spaniards.  By  the  author  of  the  Sketch-Book.  In  2  vols. 

"  We  have  read  a  part  of  Washington  Irving's  new  Sketch  Book,  the  scone  of 
which  is  Spain,  the  most  romantic  of  European  countries,  and  the  best  known 
by  the  gifted  author.  His  style  has  lost  nothing  of  its  peculiar  charm,— his  de 
scriptions  are  as  graphic  as  usual,  and  enlivened  with  racy  anecdotes  and  happy 
reflection.  We  shall  probably  soon  furnish  a  specimen  of  this  work,  from  the 
whole  of  which  we  expect  gratification."— Nat.  Gazette. 

THE  BRAVO.     By  the  author  of  the  "Spy,"  "Pilot,"  "Red 

Rover,"  &c.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  Let  us  honestly  avow  in  conclusion,  that  in  addition  to  the  charm  of  an 
interesting  fiction  to  be  found  in  these  pages,  there  is  more  mental  power 
in  them,  more  matter  that  sets  people  thinking,  more  of  that  quality  that 
is  accelerating  the  onward  movement  of  the  world,  than  in  all  the  Scotch 
novels  that  have  so  deservedly  won  our  admiration." — New  Monthly  Mag. 

"This  new  novel  from  the  pen  of  our  countryman,  Cooper,  will  win  new 
laurels  for  him.  It  is  full  of  dramatic  interest — "hair-breadth  escapes" — 
animated  and  bustling  scenes  on  the  canals,  in  the  prisons,  on  the  Rialto, 
in  the  Adriatic,  and  in  the  streets  of  Venice." — N.  Y.  Courier  $•  Enquirer. 

"  Of  the  whole  work,  we  may  confidently  say  that  it  is  very  able — a  per 
formance  of  genius  and  power." — Nat.  Gazette. 

"  The  Bravo  will,  we  think,  tend  much  to  exalt  and  extend  the  fame  of 
its  author.  We  have  hurried  through  its  pages  with  an  avidity  which  must 
find  its  apology  in  the  interesting  character  of  the  incidents  and  the  very 
vivid  and  graphic  style  in  which  they  are  described." 

By  the  same  author. 

THE  HEIDENMAUER,  or  PAGAN  CAMP.    In  2  vols. 
SALMONIA  ;  or,  Days  of  Fly  Fishing ;  by  SIR  H.  DAVY. 

"  We  are  surprised,  in  meeting  with  an  American  reprint  of  this  delightful 
volume,  that  a  work  so  universally  popular  has  not  been  before  rcpublished  in 
this  country." — JV.  Y.  American. 

"  One  of  the  most  delightful  labors  of  leisure  ever  seen  ;  not  a  few  of  the 
most  beautiful  phenomena  of  nature  are  here  lucidly  explained." — Gent.  Mag 

THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  SELBORNE.  By  the  late 
Rev.  GILBERT  WHITE,  A.  M.,  Fellow  of  the  Oriel  College, 
Oxford,  with  additions,  by  Sir  William  Jardine,  Bart.  F.  R.  S. 
E.  F.  L.  S.  M.  W.  S.,  author  of  "  Illustrations  of  Ornithology." 

"  '  White's  History  of  Selborne,'  the  most  fascinating  piece  of  rural  writing 
and  sound  English  philosophy  that  has  ever  issued  from  the  press."— jlthentcum. 

THE  MECHANISM  OF  THE  HEAVENS,  by  Mrs.  SOMERVILLE. 

In  18mo. 

"  We  possess  already  innumerable  discourses  on  Astronomy,  in  which  the 
wonders  of  the  heavens  and  their  laws  are  treated  of;  but  we  can  say  most 
conscientiously  that  we  are  acquainted  with  none — not  even  La  Place's  own 
beautiful  expose  in  his  System  du  Monde, — in  which  all  that  is  essentially  inter 
esting  in  the  motions  and  laws  of  the  celestial  bodies,  or  which  is  capable  of 
popular  enunciation,  is  so  admirably,  so  graphically,  or  we  may  add,  so  un 
affectedly  and  simply  placed  before  us.  *  *  *  Is  it  asking  top  much  of  Mrs. 
Somerville  to  express  a  hope  that  she  will  allow  this  beautiful  preliminary 
Dissertation  to  be  printed  separately,  for  the  delight  and  instruction  of  thou 
sands  of  readers,  young  and  old,  who  cannot  understand,  or  are  too  indolent 
to  apply  themselves  to  the  more  elaborate  parts  of  the  work?  If  she  will  do 
this,  we  hereby  promise  to  exert  our  best  endeavors  to  make  its  merits  known." 
— Literary  Qazette. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


TOUR  OF  A  GERMAN  PRINCE,  (PUCKLER  MUSKATT,)  through 
the  Southern  and  Western  parts  of  England,  Wales,  Ireland, 
and  France.     In  8vo.     Second  American  edition. 
1  It  contains  the  least  prejudiced  and  most  acute  notices  we  have  read  of  the 

labits  and  modes  of  thinking  of  Englishmen,  and  the  merits  and  defects  of  the 

country  and  society."—  Globe. 

CONVERSATIONS  WITH  LORD  BYRON  ON  THE  SUBJECT 
OF  RELIGION.     By  J.  KENNEDY,  M.  D.     12mo. 

3LEANINGS   IN  NATURAL  HISTORY,  with  Local  Recol 
lections.    By  EDWARD  JESSE,  Esq.  To  which  are  added,  Maxims 
and  Hints  for  Anglers.     From  the  second  London  edition. 
"  A  work  that  will  be  fondly  treasured  by  every  true  lover  of  nature." — New 

Monthly  Mag. 
"  We  hazard  but  little  in  predicting  that  this  volume  will  be  a  favorite  with 

a  large  class  of  readers.    It  is  written  by  a  true  lover  of  nature,  and  one  who 

most  pleasantly  records  his  actual  observations." — Lit.  Gaz. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  BERRI,  IN  LA  VENDEE,  comprising  a 
Narrative  of  her  Adventures,  with  her  private  papers  and 
secret  correspondence,  by  General  Dermoncourt,  who  ar 
rested  her  royal  highness  at  Nantes.  In  1  vol.  12mo. 

[This  edition  exclusively  contains  the  important  documents  and  papers  which  would  have  led  to  the 
seizure  of  the  work  in  France,  had  they  been  published  there.) 

"  Upon  its  high  interest  we  need  not  enlarge  :  the  personal  adventures  of  the  princess,  her  journeyings 
en  foot  and  on  horseback,  in  disguise  and  in  her  own  character,  her  mental  and  bodily  sufferings,  her  hopts 
and  her  despair,  are  a  romance,  and  seem  to  belong  to  another  age.  They  recall  the  wanderings  and  the 
perils  of  our  iwn  Charles  Edward,  with  all  the  additional  interest  which  must  attach  to  the  daring  aud 
the  suffering  of  &  woman."— vjl/ienzum. 

THE  ECONOMY  OF  MACHINERY  AND  MANUFACTURES. 
Bv  CHAINS  BABBAGE.  18mo. 

•>  Of  the  many  publications  which  have  recently  issued  from  the  press,  calcu 
lated  to  give  a  popular  and  attractive  form  to  the  results  of  science,  we  look  upon 
this  volume  as  by  far  the  most  valuable.  Mr.  Babfoagc's  name  is  well  known 
in  connexion  with  the  general  subject  of  which  ho  has  here  undertaken  to  treat 
But  it  will  be  difficult  for  the  reader  who  does  not  possess  the  volume  itself,  to 
understand  the  happy  style,  the  judgment  and  tact,  by  means  of  which  the  an 
thor  has  contrived  to  lend  almost  the  charm  of  romance  to  the  apparently  drj 
and  technical  theme  which  he  has  chosen."— Monthly  Rev. 

OUSELEY'S  REMARKS  ON  THE  STATISTICS  AND  POLITI 
CAL  INSTITUTIONS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

"The  author  is  a  man  of  solid  sense,  friendly  to  this  country,  and  his  remarks 
have  the  value  and  interest  of  which  his  character  and  inquiries  authorizet 
the  expectation." — National  Gazette. 

TWO  YEARS  AND  A  HALF  IN  THE  NAVY,  or,  JOURNAL 
OF  A  CRUISE  IN  THE  MEDITERRANEAN  AND  LEVANT,  ON  BOARD 
THE  U.  S.  FRIGATE  CONSTELLATION,  IN  THE  YEARS  1829,  1830 
and  1831.  By  E.  C.  WINES.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  The  author  is  a  gentleman  of  classical  education,  a  shrewd  observer,  a  lively 
writer,  whose  natural  manner  is  always  agreeable;  whose  various  matter  is 
generally  entertaining  and  instructive;  and  whose  descriptions  are  remarkably 
graphic.  The  greater  portion  of  his  pages  have  yielded  us  both  profit  and 
pleasure."— Nat.  Oat, 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  &  Blanchard. 


THREE  YEARS  IN  THE  PACIFIC,  including  notices  of 
Brazil,  Chili,  Bolivia,  and  Peru.  In  one  vol.  By  an  Offi 
cer  of  the  United  States'  Navy. 

"The  work  embraces  copious  descriptions  of  the  countries  visited ;  graphic 
accounts  of  the  state  of  society ;  brief  notices  of  the  history,  state  of  the 
arts,  climate,  and  the  future  prospects  of  those  interesting  parts  of  our  conti 
nent  ;  respecting  which  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  are  supposed  to 
care  much,  but  know  so  little." 

"Full  of  novelty  and  valuable  details.  The  American  reader  will  greatly 
add  to  his  fund  of  ideas  concerning  South  America  by  its.perusal." — Chronicle. 

"  The  author's  graphic  abilities — the  pure  acquaintance  he  displays  with 
the  Spanish  language,  renders  his  book  at  once  pleasing  and  useful." — Gas. 

"  Such  contributions  to  our  stock  of  ideas  and  literature,  deserve  a  warmer 
welcome  and  wider  patronage  than  the  common-place  or  extravagant  fictions 
of  the  day." — National  Gazette. 

"Much  new  and  valuable  information,  imbodied  in  excellent  language; 
there  cannot  be  a  moment's  doubt  of  its  popularity." — Jour,  of  Belles  Lettres. 

LETTERS  ON  THE  UNITED  STATES.  Letters  to  a  Gen 
tleman  in  Germany,  written  after  a  trip  from  Philadelphia 
to  Niagara,  edited  by  Dr.  Francis  Lieber,  in  one  vol.  8vo. 

"  The  mingling  of  anecdote,  the  abrupt  breaks,  personal  narration,  illustrative 
comparisons,  and  general  style  of  the  work,  give  it  an  interest  that  will  ensure 
to  the  book  general  perusal — while  the  philosophical  tone  which  occasionally 
pervades  its  pages  cannot  fail  of  commending  them  to  the  approval  of  the 
reflecting.''—!/.  S.  Gazette. 

"  We  have  read  this  work  with  great  satisfaction  and  interest.  It  abounds 
with  characteristic  anecdotes,  graphic  descriptions,  and  principles  which  do 
honour  to  the  head  and  heart  of  the  author." — Nat.  Intelligencer. 

The  style  of  these  Letters  is,  in  general,  very  good;  sometimes  poetical  and 
eloquent. 

"Here  is  a  well  written  series  of  Letters,  by  a  learned  German,  who  has 
lived  long  enough  among  us,  it  appears,  to  examine  the  peculiarities  of  our 
government  and  habits,  with  the  impartial  eye  of  a  philosopher." — Baltimore 
paper. 

"  This  is  a  very  agreeable  book — rambling,  sprightly,  anecdotical,  and  withal, 
interspersed  with  much  useful  and  practical  information,  and  keen  and  accurate 
observation." — JVezo  York  American. 

SKETCHES  OF  SOCKETY  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN  AND 
IRELAND.  By  C.  S.  Stewart,  M.  A.,  Chaplain  of  the 
United  States'  Navy,  author  of"  A  Visit  to  the  South  Seas," 
"  A  Residence  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,"  &c.  In  two  vols. 
12mo. 

"  Some  of  his  sketches  are  beautiful  descriptions ;  others  are  finished  pictures. 
The  charm  of  these  volumes  consists  in  the  distinct  view  which  the  author 
gives  us  of  the  scenery,  the  country,  the  cities  and  towns,  the  aristocracy,  the 
churches, — in  one  word,  the  thousand  particulars,  which,  together,  constitute 
what  is  called  the  state  of  society." — Religious  Telegraph. 

"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  work  with  so  pleasant  an  interest.  The  contents 
are  various  and  racy,  epistolary  transcripts  of  the  author's  mind,  published  just 
as  written,  without  revisions,  and  with  all  the  gloss  and  freshness  of  first  and 
original  impressions  about  them.  The  work  is  full  of  living  pictures." 

"  His  observations  on  men  and  manners,  in  his  description  of  the  different 
scenes  to  which  his  pilgrimage  was  extended,  are  given  in  a  style  of  the  most 
flowing  and  attractive  kind." — JV.  Y.  Courier. 

THIRTY  YEARS'  CORRESPONDENCE,  between  John 
Jehb,  D.  D.  F.  R.  S.,  Bishop  of  Limerick,  Ardfert,  and 
Aghadoe ;  and  Alexander  Knox,  Esq.,  M.  R.  I.  A.  Edited 
by  the  Rev.  Charles  Forster,  B.  D.,  perpetual  curate  of  Ash 
next  SandAvich ;  formerly,  domestic  Chaplain  to  Bishop 
Jebb.  In  two  vols.  8vo. 


New  Works,  published  fcy  Carey,  Lea,  &,  Blancliard. 


BRIDGEWATER  TREATISES. 


This  series  of  Treatises  is  published  under  the  following  circum 
stances: — 

The  Right  Honorable  and  Rev.  FRANCIS  HENRY,  Earl  of  Bridge- 
water,  died  in  the  month  of  February,  1825 ;  he  directed  certain  trus 
tees  therein  named,  to  invest  in  the  public  funds,  the  sum  of  eight 
thousand  pounds  sterling;  this  sum,  with  the  accruing  dividends 
thereon,  to  be  held  at  the  disposal  of  the  President,  for  the  time  being, 
of  the  Royal  Society  of  London,  to  be  paid  to  the  person  or  persons 
nominated  by  him.  The  Testator  farther  directed,  that  the  person  or 
persons  selected  by  the  said  President,  should  be  appointed  to  write, 
print  and  publish  one  thousand  copies  of  a  work,  on  the  Power,  Wis 
dom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the  Creation ;  illustra 
ting  such  work,  by  all  reasonable  arguments,  as,  for  instance,  the  va 
riety  and  formation  of  God's  creatures  in  the  Animal,  Vegetable,  and 
Mineral  Kingdoms ;  the  effect  of  digestion,  and,  thereby,  of  conver 
sion  ;  the  construction  of  the  hand  of  man,  and  an  infinite  variety  of 
other  arguments  ;  as  also  by  discoveries,  ancient  and  modern,  in  arts, 
sciences,  and  the  whole  extent  of  literature. 

He  desired,  moreover,  that  the  profits  arising  from  the  sale  of  the 
works  so  published,  should  be  paid  to  the  authors  of  the  works. 

The  late  President  of  the  Royal  Society,  DA  VIES  GILBERT,  Esq.  re 
quested  the  assistance  of  his  Grace,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  in  determining  upon  the  best  mode  of 
carrying  into  effect,  the  intentions  of  the  Testator.  Acting  with  their 
advice,  and  with  the  concurrence  of  a  nobleman  immediately  connect 
ed  with  the  deceased,  Mr.  Davies  Gilbert  appointed  the  following  eight 
gentlemen  to  write  separate  Treatises  in  the  different  branches  of  the 
subjects  here  stated: — 

I.  The  Adaptation  of  External  Nature  to  the  Moral  and  Intellec 
tual  Constitution  of  Man,  by  the  Rev.  THOMAS  CHALMERS,  D.  D.,  Pro 
fessor  of  Divinity  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

II.  The  adaptation  of  External  Nature  to  the  Physical  Condition 
of  Man,  by  JOHN  KIDD,  M.  D.,  F.  R.  S.,  Regius  Professor  of  Medicine 
in  the  University  of  Oxford. 

III.  Astronomy  and  General  Physics,  considered  with  reference  to 
Natural  Theology,  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Whewell,  M.  A.,  F.  R.  S.,  Fel 
low  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

IV.  The  hand :  its  mechanism  and  vital  endowments  as  evincing 
design,  by  Sir  Charles  Befl,  K.  H.,  F.  R.  S. 

V.  Animal  and  Vegetable  Physiology,  by  Peter  Mark  Roget,  M.  D., 
Fellow  of  and  Secretary  to  the  Royal  Society. 

VI.  Geology  and  Mineralogy,  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Buckland,  D.  D., 
F.  R.  S.,  Canon  of  Christ  Church,  and  Professor  of  Geology  in  the 
University  of  Oxford. 

VII.  The  History,  Habits,  and  Instincts  of  Animals,  by  the  Rev. 
Wm.  Kirby,  M.  A.,  F.  R.  S. 


New  WorUsj  published  l>y  Carey,  Iiea,  &,  Blancliarcl. 


BRIDGEWATER   TREATISES. 


VIII.  Chemistry,  Meteorology,  and  the  Function  of  Digestion,  by 
Wm.  Prout,  M.D..F.R.S. 

THE  FOLLOWING  ARE  PUBLISHED. 

ASTRONOMY  AND  GENERAL  PHYSICS,  considered  with 
reference  to  Natural  Theology.  By  the  Rev.  WILLIAM  WHE- 
WELL,  M.  A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Trinity  College,  Cam 
bridge  ;  being  Part  III.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises  on  the 
Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the 
Creation.  In  one  vol.  12mo. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  profound  investigation,  deep  research,  distinguished  aliks 
for  the  calm  Christian  spirit  which  breathes  throughout,  and  the  sound,  irre 
sistible  argumentation  which  is  stamped  on  every  page." — Daily  Intelli 
gencer. 

"  Let  works  like  that  before  us  be  widely  disseminated,  and  the  bold,  active, 
and  ingenious  enemies  of  religion  be  met  by  those,  equally  sagacious,  alert  and 
resolute  and  the  most  timid  of  the  many  who  depend  upon  the  few,  need  not 
fear  the  host  that  comes  with  subtle  steps  to  'steal  their  faith  away.'  " — JV.  Y. 
American. 

"  That  the  devoted  spirit  of  the  work  is  most  exemplary,  that  we  have  here 
and  there  found,  or  fancied,  room  for  cavil,  only  peradventure  because  we  have 
been  unable  to  follow  the  author  through  the  prodigious  range  of  his  philo 
sophical  survey — and  in  a  word,  that  the  work  before  us  would  have  made  the 
reputation  of  any  other  man,  and  may  well  maintain  even  that  of  Professor 
Whewell." — Metropolitan. 

"  He  has  succeeded  admirably  in  laying  a  broad  foundation,  in  the  light  of 
nature,  for  the  reception  of  the  more  glorious  truths  of  revelation  ;  and  has 
produced  a  work  well  calculated  to  dissipate  the  delusions  of  scepticism  and 
infidelity,  and  to  confirm  the  believer  in  his  faith." — Charleston  Courier. 

"  The  known  talents,  and  high  reputation  of  the  author,  gave  an  earnest  of 
excellence,  and  nobly  has  Mr.  Whewell  redeemed  the  pledge. — In  conclusion, 
•vehave  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that  the  present  is  one  of  the  best  works  of 
its  kind,  and  admirably  adapted  to  the  end  proposed;  as  such,  we  cordially 
recommend  it  to  our  readers." — London  Lit.  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  high  character." — Boston  Recorder. 

A  TREATISE  ON  THE  ADAPTATION  OF  EXTERNAL 
NATURE  TO  THE  PHYSICAL  CONDITION  OF  MAN, 

principally  with  reference  to  the  supply  of  his  wants,  and  the 
exercise  of  his  intellectual  faculties.  By  JOHN  KIDD,  M.  D., 
F.  R.  S.,  Regius  Professor  of  Medicine  in  the  University  of 
Oxford  ;  being  Part  II.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises  on  the 
Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the 
Creation.  In  one  vol.  12mo. 

"  It  is  ably  written,  and  replete  both  with  interest  and  instruction.  The 
diffusion  of  such  works  cannot  fail  to  be  attended  with  the  happiest  effects  in 
justifying 'the  ways  of  God  to  man,' and  illustrating  the  wisdom  and  good 
ness  of  the  Creator  by  arguments  which  appeal  irresistably  both  to  the  reason 
and  the  feelings.  Few  can  understand  abstract  reasoning,  and  still  fewer  rel 
ish  it,  or  will  listen  to  it :  but  in  this  work  the  purest  morality  and  the  kindli 
est  feelings  are  inculcated  through  the  medium  of  agreeable  and  useful  infor 
mation." — Bait.  Gaz. 

"  It  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  individual  who  feels  disposed  to  '  vindi 
cate  the  Ways  of  God  to  man.'  " — JV.  ¥.  Com.  Jldv. 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  &  Blanchard. 


BEIDGEWATER    TREATISES. 

CHEMISTRY,  MINERALOGY,  AND  THE  FUNCTIONS 
OF  DIGESTION,  considered  with  reference  to  Natural  The 
ology,  by  William  Prout,  M.  D.  F.  R.  S.,  Fellow  of  the  Royal 
College  of  Physicians,  being  part  eight  of -the  Bridgewater 
Treatises  on  the  Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as 
manifested  in  the  Creation.  In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  For  depth  of  investigation,  extent  of  research  and  cogency  of  reasoning, 
this  work  will  not  suffer  in  comparison  with  any  other  of  this  admirable 
series.  The  deductions  from  the  premises  are  strong  and  conclusive,  and 
bear  the  impress  of  a  calm,  philosophic,  and  truly  Christian  spirit.  The 
valuable  scientific  knowledge  that  may  be  derived  from  the  Bridgewater 
Treatises,  independent  of  their  grand  design — the  illustration  of  the  power, 
wisdom,  and  goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the  creation — should  secure 
them  a  wide  circulation." — Bait.  Gazelle. 

ON  THE  ADAPTATION  OF  EXTERNAL  NATURE  TO 
THE  MORAL  AND  INTELLECTUAL  CONSTITUTION 
OF  MAN.  By  the  Rev.  THOMAS  CHALMERS,  D.  D. ;  being 
Part  I.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises  on  the  Power,  Wisdom, 
and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  Creation.  In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  The  volumes  before  us  are  every  way  worthy  of  their  subject.  It 
would  seem  almost  supererogatory  to  pass  any  judgment  on  the  style  of  a 
writer  so  celebrated  as  Dr.  Chalmers.  He  is  well  known  as  a  logician  not 
to  be  baffled  by  any  difficulties ;  as  one  who  boldly  grapples  with  his  theme, 
and  brings  every  energy  of  his  clear  and  nervous  intellect  into  the  field. 
No  sophistry  escapes  his  eagle  vision — no  argument  that  could  either 
enforce  or  illustrate  his  subject  is  left  untouched.  Our  literature  owes  a 
deep  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  author  of  these  admirable  volumes." — Lit.  Gaz. 

THE  HAND:  ITS  MECHANISM  AND  VITAL  ENDOW 
MENTS,  AS  EVINCING  DESIGN.  By  Sir  CHARLES 
BELL,  K.  G.  II. ;  being  Part  IV.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises 
on  the  Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested 
in  the  Creation.  In  one  vol.  12mo. 

"  In  the  present  treatise  it  is  a  matter  of  the  warmest  satisfaction  to  find 
an  anatomist  of  Sir  Charles  Roll's  great  eminence,  professing  his  contempt 
for  the  late  fashionable  doctrines  of  materialism  held  by  so  many  anato 
mists,  and  now  coming  forward  to  present  the  fruits  of  his  wide  researches 
and  great  ability  in  a  treatise  so  full  of  curious  and  interesting  matter, 
expressly  intended  to  prove,  by  the  examination  of  one  particular  point, 
that  design  which  is  imprest  on  all  parts  of  various  animals  which  in  some 
degree  answer  the  purpose  of  the  Hand  ;  and  has  shown  that  the  hand  is 
not  the  source  of  contrivance,  nor  consequently  of  man's  superiority,  as 
some  materialists  have  maintained. 

"  To  this  he  has  added  some  very  valuable  remarks,  showing  the  uses  of 
Pain,  and  he  has  illustrated  the  w:ork  with  a  variety  of  the  most  admirable 
and  interesting  wood  cuts." — British  Magazine. 

ANIMAL  AND  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  considered  with 
reference  to  Natural  Theology.  By  Peter  Mark  Roget,  M.  D.  Being 
Treatise  five  of  the  Bridgewater  Series  :  illustrated  with  numerous 
cuts. 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  &  Blanchard. 


TRAITS  AND  TRADITIONS  OF  PORTUGAL,  collected 
during  a  residence  in  that  country.  By  Miss  Pardoe.  In 
two  vols.  12mo. 

"  A  very  singular  and  effective  union  of  the  very  best  properties  which  we 
seek  for  in  books  of  travels  on  the  one  hand,  and  in  works  of  the  imagination 
on  the  other." — Monthly  Review. 

"  The  manners  of  Portugal  were  never  before  delineated  with  so  much  truth 
and  vivacity." — Standard. 

THE  POSTHUMOUS  POEMS  OF  THE  REV.  GEORGE 
CRABBE,  with  his  Letters  and  Journals,  and  a  Memoir 
of  his  Life.  By  his  Son  and  Executor.  In  two  handsome 
vols. 

"  There  are  in  my  recess  at  home  another  Seria  of  Stories,  in  numler  and  quantity  sufficient  for  a 
volume;  and  at  tftty  are  much  like  the  former  in  execution,  and  sufficiently  different  in  evtnti  and  clia- 
ractert,  they  may  hereafter,  in  pencealle  timu,  te  worth,  something  to  you  ;  and  the  more,  Lecawe  I  shall, 
whatever  is  mortal  of  me,  be  at  rest  in  the  chancel  of  TrowMdge  church."— Crabbe  to  his  Son. 

"  The  Life  of  Crabbe  will  be  found  far  more  abundant  in  striking  incidents 
and  extraordinary  contrasts  and  reverses,  tban  that  of  almost  any  other  poet 
with  whose  personal  story  we  are  acquainted.  It  will  be  seen  from  his  own 
Diaries,  how  calmly  he  had  tasted,  both  of  the  very  bitterest  adversity— a  des 
titute  and  forlorn  wanderer  about  the  streets  of  London, — and  of  what,  con 
sidering  his  early  position  and  distresses,  may  be  called  splendid  prosperity — the 
honoured  and  admired  friend  of  Burke,  Johnson,  Reynolds,  Thurlow,  Pox— and 
more  recently  of  Scott,  Rogers,  Moore,  &c.  &c.— the  courted  guest  of  the  noblest 
mansions — placed  at  length,  by  the  universal  consent  of  all  capable  of  appre 
ciating  literary  merit,  on  an  elevation  second  to  no  one  among  his  contem 
poraries." 

THE  BOOK  OF  SCIENCE ;  a  familiar  introduction  to  the 
Principles  of  Natural  Philosophy,  adapted  to  the  compre 
hension  of  Young  People ;  comprising  Treatises  on  all  the 
Sciences.  Illustrated  by  many  curious  and  interesting 
Experiments  and  Observations,  and  including  Notices  of 
the  most  recent  Discoveries.  Embellished  with  upwards 
of  two  hundred  Engravings  on  wood. 

"  This  work  is  beautifully  got  up,  nnd  elegantly  embellished  with  exceedingly 
clever  wood  cuts:  it  is  published  with  the  design  of  affording  to  youthful  mindg 
a  brie/,  but  yet  perspicuous,  exhibition  of  the  first  principles  of  the  physical 
sciences,  including  accounts  of  the  most  important  discoveries  recently  made  in 
the  several  departments  of  natural  "knowledge.  All  this  the  book  professes  to 
do,  and  does  it  well.  We  tliink  by  the  easy  and  familiar  tone  that  it  adopts  in 
the  descriptions.it  will  become  a  great  favourite  with  youth." — Metrop.Mag. 

"  Here  is  a  familiar  introduction  to  the  principles  of  natural  philosophy.  We 
have  carefully  perused  every  page,  and  every  page  has  afforded  us  proofs  of 
accuracy  and  observation  which  we  hardly  expected.  There  cannot  be  a  more 
delightful  present  to  the  young,  or  anything  better  calculated  to  refresh  the 
memories  of  the  old.  It  is  the  book,  of  all  others,  to  teach  young  people  how 
to  think." — New  Monthly  Magazine. 

"  The  present  little  volume  is  so  written,  that,  with  moderate  attention,  a 
youth  may  obtain  a  very  clear  knowledge  of  each  branch  of  natural  philosophy. 
The  volume  is  printed  uniformly  with  the  '  Boy's  Own  Book,''  and  may  be  said  to 
be  a  suitable  successor  to  that  -little  work.  The  compiler  deserves  great  credit 
for  the  arrangement,  and  also  for  the  simple,  at  the  same  time,  correct  and 
familiar  style  of  conveying  information.  We  cannot  do  better  than  recommend 
parents  to  .present  to  their  children  this  elegant  little  production." — Repertory 
of  Arts. 

"Our  readers  will,  doubtless,  remember  the  'Soy's  Own  Bonk;'  the  present 
volume  is  a  sequel  to  that  amusing  little  work.  It  is  got  up  with  extreme  care, 
and  illustrated  with  an  immense  number  of  figures,  of  extraordinary  neatness 
of  execution." — Atlas. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  IRELAND.  By  Thomas  Moore.  Vol.  I. 
is  nearly  ready,  and  the  remainder  in  progress. 

HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  Vol.  IV.  Being  a  continuation 
of  Mackintosh. 


New  Worksj  published  l>y  Carey,  Lea,  &>  Blancliard. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

Containing  the  Doctrines,  Duties,  Admonitions,  and  Consola 
tions,  of  the  Christian  Religion.  By  JOHN  BURNS,  M.  D.,  F.  R.  S. 
From  the  4th  London  edition.  In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  The  author  has  unfolded  the  principles  of  Christianity  with  much  candor 
and  correctness;  he  has  explained  our  personal  and  relative  duties  in  a  just 
and  philosophical  manner;  and,  by  the  ease  and  unaffected  simplicity  of  his 
style,  has  rendered  his  treatise  pleasing  as  well  as  instructive. — His  remarks 
on  brotherly  love,  in  that  part  of  his  work  embracing  the  relative  duties,  pos 
sess  much  to  interest." — fl  Traveller. 

"  The  book  has  a  high  reputation  in  Great  Britain,  and  there  is  no  being 
capable  of  reflection,  who  has  not  need,  and  upon  whom  it  is  not  incumbent, 
to  obtain  light,  and  bestow  concern  on  the  topics  which  are  here  discussed. 

"Every  page  that  directs  the  mind  to  what  should  be  deemed  the  main  inter 
est  of  life,  and  causes  operative  thought  in  ulterior  destinies,  is  of  inestima 
ble  value." — Nat.  Gazette. 


PICTURES  OF  PRIVATE  LIFE. 

BY    SARAH    STICKNEY. 

In  1  neat  18mo.  vol. 

"  The  publishers  deserve  the  thanks  of  the  lovers  of  pure,  chastened  and 
profitable  fiction  for  their  reprint  of  this  charming  little  work.  It  cannot  fail 
to  become  as  popular  here  as  it  already  is  in  England.  It  is  a  collection  of  tales 
and  sketches,  designed  to  impress  upon  the  mind  useful  lessons  of  piety,  virtue 
and  wisdom.  It  is  written  in  a  style  of  unusual  excellence — masculine  in  its 
vigor,  yet  light  and  playful  in  its  delicacy,  and  embodies  several  scenes  of 
pathos  and  feeling  of  which  Sterne  or  M'Kenzie  might  be  proud. — To  those 
whose  taste  has  not  been  perverted  by  the  flashy  wit  and  nauseous  sentiment 
ality  of  modern  fiction,  we  commend  the  immediate  purchase  of  this  delight 
ful  little  work." — Daily  Intelligencer. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 

THOUGHTS  IN  VERSE  FOR  SUNDAYS  AND  HOLY  DAYS  THROUOHOUT  THE  YEAR. 
"  In  quietness  and  in  confidence  thall  be  your  strength."— Isaiah  xxr.  15. 

First  American  from  the  25lh  London  edition,  with  an  introduction  and 
notes  by  Bishop  Doane,  of  New  Jersey.  In  a  handsome  vol. 

"  It  may  be  read  for  purposes  of  devotion  by  Christians  of  whatever  deno 
mination,  with  pleasure  and  profit." — Christian  Watchman, 

"  These  verses  were  singularly  beautiful  iu  conception  and  composition,  and 
breathe  the  purest  poetic  taste  and  the  most  sincere  and  fervent  spirit  of 
piety."—  Gazette. 

"  The  work  should  be  in  the  hands  of  all  who  value  taste,  genius  and 
piety." — Com.  Intelligencer. 

"  We  have  rarely,  perhaps  iiRvnr,  met  a  poetical  volume,  more  appropriate 
to  family  devotion." — U.  S.  Gazette. 

"  As  a  book  for  family  reading — whether  as  an  exercise  of  taste  or  devotion 
— we  know  of  few  that  can  surpass  it." — Gazette. 

A  few  copies  have  been  bound  in  beautiful  embossed  leather,  with  gilt 
edges,  making  a  very  desirable  volume  for  a  present. 


A  GUIDE  TO  AN  IRISH  GENTLEMAN  IN  HIS  SEARCH 

FOR  A  RELIGION. 
By  the  Rev.  MORTIMER  O' SULLIVAN,  A.  M. 

1  vol.  12mo.     Being  an  answer  to  Moore's  work. 


FAMILY  CABINET  ATLAS. 


THE  FAMILY  CABINET  ATLAS,  CONSTRUCTED  UPON  AN  ORI 
GINAL  PLAN:  Being  a  Companion  to  the  Encyclopaedia  Ameri 
cana,  Cabinet  Cyclopedia,  Family  Library,  Cabinet  Library,  &c. 
This  Atlas  comprises,  in  a  volume  of  the  Family  Library  size,  nearly  J 00  Maps 
and  Tables,  which  present  equal  to  Fifty  Thousand  Names  of  Places;  a  body 
of  information  three  times  as  extensive  as  that  supplied  by  the  generality  of 
Quarto  Atlases. 

Opinions  rf  the  Public  Journals. 

"This  beautiful  and  most  useful  little  volume,"  says  the  Literary  Gazette, 
"  is  a  perfect  picture  of  elegance,  containing  a  vast  sum  of  geographical  infor 
mation.  A  more  instructive  little  present,  or  a  eift  better  calculated  to  be  long 
preserved  a»<l  ofien  referred  to,  could  not  be  offered  to  favored  youth  of  either 
sex.  Its  cheapness,  we  must  add,  is  another  recommendation  ;  for,  although 
tins  elegant  publication  contains  100  beautiful  engravings,  it  is  issued  at  a  price 
that  can  be  no  obstacle  to  its  being  procured  by  every  parent  and  friend  to  youth." 
This  Atlas  far  surpasses  any  thin-;  of  the  kind  which  we  have  seen,  and  is 
made  to  suit  the  popular  libraries  which  Dr.  Lardner  and  Mr.  Murray  are  now 
sending  into  every  family  in  the  empire."— Monthly  Rcricw. 

"  Its  very  ingenious  method  of  arrangement  secures  to  the  geographical  stu 
dent  the  information  for  which  hitherto  he  has  been  obliged  to  resort  to  works 
of  the  largest  dimensions." — JUhenafum. 

"  This  miniature  and  beautiful  Atlas  is  likely  to  supersede,  for  general  pur 
poses,  maps  of  a  more  expensive  and  elaborate  character.  It  appears  to  us  to 
answer  the  double  purpose  of  exercising  the  attention,  while  it  imprints  all  that 
is  important  in  Geography  on  the  memory."— Atlas. 

"  The  workmanship  is  among  the  best  of  the  kind  we  have  ever  witnessed."— 
Examiner. 

"  It  contains  all  the  information  to  be  derived  from  the  most  expensive  and 
unwieldy  Atlas."—  York  Courant. 

HISTORY  OF  THE    REVOLUTION   IN   ENGLAND,   IN 

1688:  comprising  a  View  of  the  Reign  of  James  II.,  from  his 
accession,  to  the  Enterprise  of  the  Prince  of  Orange.  By  the 
late  Right  Hon.  Sir  JAMES  MACKINTOSH.  And  completed  to 
the  Settlement  of  the  Crown,  by  the  Editor.  To  which  is  pre 
fixed,  a  Notice  of  the  LIFE,  WRITINGS,  and  SPEECHES  of  Sir 
JAMES  MACKINTOSH.  In  1  vol.  8vo. 

"We  are  at  length  gratified  by  the  appearance  of  this  long-looked  for  work 
from  the  pen  of'Sir  James  Mackintosh.  Highly  gifted  by  nature,  deeply  read, 
and  singularly  accomplished,  the  view  of  one  of  the  most  memorable  epochs  in 
English  history  could  not  have  been  undertaken  by  any  man  of  a  capacity  to  do 
it  justice  in  every  respect,  superior  to  this  eminent  individual." — Lit.  Oazette. 

"  In  every  page  we  perceive  the  anxiety  of  the  hislorian  to  hold  the  ba 
lance  of  justice  with  unfaltering  hand,  and  to  watch  its  slightest  vibrations." 
— Athenaeum. 

"The  Sequel  is  highly  honourable  to  the  industry  and  talents  of  its  author; 
and  the  Prefatory  Memoir  is  very  well  written.  Altogether,  the  volume 
possesses  a  sterling  character,  too  rare  at  this  period  of  evanescent  publica 
tions." — Lit.  Gazelle. 

LIFE  OF  THE  REV.  QEORGE  CRABBE,  LL.R,  with  his 
Letters  and  Journals,  together  with  his  Posthumous  Poems. 
Edited  by  his  Son,  In  2  neat  volumes. 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  L.eo,  &  lllnncharcl. 


Moore's  New  Work. 


TRAVELS  OF  AN  IRISH  GENTLEMAN, 
IN  SEARCH  OF  A  RELIGION. 

With  Notes  and  Illustrations.    By  the  Editor  of  Captain  Rock's 
Memoirs'.     In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  Considering  the  circumstances  under  which  these  volumes  are  given  to  the 
public,  we  consider  their  contents  as  amongst  (he  most  interesting  records  of 
which  the  assertion  of  the  human  mind  ever  formed  the  theme." — Monthly  Re 
view. 

"The  masterly  manner  in  which  Mr.  Moore  has  brought  together  his  argu 
ments,  the  great  extent  and  minuteness  of  his  researches  into  ancient  author 
ities,  his  intimacy  with  the  customs  and  traditions  of  other  times,  and  nis 
close  and  critical  knowledge  of  the  ancient  languages,  will  surprise  tne  rea 
der  of  his  Travels,  who  may  have  measured  his  talents  by  his  songs."— Amer 
ican  Sentinel. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OP  FLOWERS. 

With  coloured  plates :  elegantly  bound,  with  gilt  edges :  a  beau 
tiful  volume  for  a  present. 


SISMONDI'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  FALL  OF  THE 
ROMAN  EMPIRE: 

COMPRISING  A  VIEW  OF  THE  INVASION  OF  THE  BARBARIANS. 


THE  INFIRMITIES  OF  GENIUS, 

Illustrated  by  referring  the  anomalies  in  the  literary  character, 
to  the  habits  and  constitutional  peculiarities  of  Men  of  Genius. 
By  R.  R.  MADDEN,  Esq.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  This  is  a  very  valuable  and  interesting  work,  full  of  new  views  and  curi 
ous  deductions  ;  beginning  with  general  remarks  on  the  influence  of  literary 
habits,  on  the  constitution,  and  thence  proceeding  to  make  tho  theory  more 
actual  by  its  application  to  particular  instances. 

"  His  physical  biographies,  if  we  may  so  term  them,  of  Burns,  Cowper,  By 
ron,  and  Scott,  are  of  a  very  curious  and  novol  kind  ;  written  with  equal  feel 
ing  and  observation.  He  traces  Cowper's  malady  to  its  true  source,  monoma^ 
nia  on  religious  subjects;  and  the  tone  of  the  remarks  is  at  once  so  just  and 
so  candid,  that  we  cannot  do  better  than  give  a  brief  portion." — Lit.  Gazette. 


THE  LIFE  OF  PRINCE  TALLEYRAND. 
Accompanied  by  a  Portrait     In  1  volume,  8vo. 

"  How  conld  the  work  be  otherwise  than  interesting,  when  it  traces  the  career  of  a  statesman,  who, 
though  now  in  his  eighty-first  year,  has  commanding  influence  in  every  European  cabinet,  who  acquired 
power  under  the  French  monarchy,  and  retained  it  under  the  Republic,  the  Directory,  the  Consulate,  the 
Empire,  and  the  Dynasty  of  Artois  and  Orleans  r'~JUhmxum. 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  «fc  BlaucJiard. 


THE  PREMIUM, 

A  PRESENT  FOR  ALL  SEASONS : 

insisting  of  elegant  selections  from  British  and  American 
writers  of  the  19th  century.  In  one  small  neat  volume,  ele 
gantly  bound  in  morocco ;  with  engravings,  by  Ellis,  from  de 
signs  by  Westall  and  Richter. 

This  work  particularly  commends  itself  to  school  teachers,  pa 
rents,  and  others,  who  may  be  in  search  of  a  volume  to  pre 
sent  to  either  sex. 


lie  vmn  aiuy,  ana  consuiuies  a  cneap,  eiegam,  aim  ap 

[iropriate  present." — Daily  Intelligencer. 

"  A  very  neat  and  instructive  present  for  youth  at  all  seasons." — JVaJ.  Gaz 


A  TREATISE    ON    ASTRONOMY. 

BY  SIR  JOHN  F.  W.  HEKSCHEL,  P.  K.  S.  &C. 

In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"The  present  treatise  is  in  no  wise  inferior  to  its  predecessor:  it  is  charac 
terized  by  the  same  agreeable  and  elegant  style,  the  same  facility  of  illustra 
tion — added  to  which  it  possesses  unrivalled  precision  and  accuracy  of  de 
monstration.  A  voiding,  therefore,  the  abstruse  niceties  and  the  transcendenta 
mathematics  of  the  subject,  the  author  has  nev«rtheless  produced  a  volume 
calculated,  we  are  fully  pursiiaded,  to  impress  upon  his  readers  the  magnitude 
and  importance  of  the  science,  and  to  initiate  them  in  no  mean  degree  into 
its  mysteries." — Lit.  Gazette. 


of  the  Court 
OF  KING  CHARLES  THE  FIRST. 

By  LUCY  AIKIN.    In  Two  Volumes,  8vo. 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  &  Klancliarcl. 


TALES   AND   CONVERSATIONS, 

OR,  THE  NEW  CHILDREN'S  FRIEND. 

By  Mrs.  MARKHAM,  Author  of  the  Histories  of  England  and 
France.     In  2  small  volumes. 

• "  We  conscientiously  recommend  Mrs.  Markham  to  our  readers."— Lit. 
Gazette. 

"  These  volumes  contain  excellent  instruction  in  a  very  agreeable  form."-— 
Spectator. 

"  We  have  two  neat  volumes,  containing  a  series  of  Dialogues,  by  Mrs. 
Markham,  designed  for  the  improvement  of  young  people.  We  have  examin 
ed  them  carefully,  and  can  say  that  we  think  them  well  adapted  to  the  purpose 
of  the  author.  They  are  sufficiently  simple  to  be  understood  by  boys  and  girls 
who  have  just  begun  to  take  to  their  books ;  they  convey  lessons  well  worth 
the  study  of  all  who  are  yet  classed  among  young  people  ;  and  they  are  inter 
esting  enough  to  secure  the  attention  of  those  whom  they  are  designed  to  in 
struct." — Chronicle. 


MRS.  TROLLOPE'S  BELGIUM  AND  WESTERN  GERMANY. 

INCLUDING  VISITS  TO  BADEN-EADEN,  WEISBADEN,  CASSEL, 
HANOVER,  &C.  &C.       IN  1  VOL. 

"  We  have  pleasure  in  saying,  that  we  think  her  style  considerably  strength 
ened  and  improved  since  her  'Tour  in  America." — Quarterly  Review. 

MEMOIRS  OF  CELEBRATED  WOMEN  OF  ALL 
COUNTRIES. 

BY  THE  DUCHESS  D'ABRANTES. 


ON  THE  PENITENTIARY  SYSTEM 

IN  THE  UNITED  STATES, 
AND  ITS  APPLICATION  IN  FRANCE: 

With  an  Appendix  on  Penal  Codes,  and  Statistical  Notes.  By 
G.  DE  BEAUMONT  and  A.  DE  TOQUEVILLE,  Counsellors  in  the 
Royal  Court  of  Paris,  and  Members  of  the  Historical  Society 
of  Pennsylvania.  Translated  from  the  French  :  with  an  in 
troduction,  notes,  and  additions.  By  FRANCIS  LEIBER.  In  1 
vol.  8vo. 

"  The  commissioners  appear  to  have  pursued  thrir  researches  with  much 
industry  and  intelligence,  and  to  have  rendered  themselves  thoroughly  ac 
quainted  with  the  subject." 

"The  translation  of  the  work  could  not  have  been  committed  to  better 
hands  than  Mr.  Leiber's,  and  with  his  notes  and  additions,  it  forms  one  of 
the  best  practical  treatises  extant  on  the  causes  and  prevention  of  crime. 
We  shall  probably  have  occasion  to  recur  again  to  this  valuable  work." — Bait. 
American. 


HISTORY  OF  SPAIN  AND  PORTUGAL. 

Complete,  in  5  vols.  12mo. 

'  A  work  unequalled  in  modern  English  historical  literature." — Micnvum. 


. 

NOTES  ON  ITALY,  during  the  years  1829-30.  By  REMBRANDT 
PEALE.  In  1  vol.  8vo. 

"This  artist  will  gratify  all  reasonable  expectation  ;  he  is  neither  ostenta 
tious,  nor  dogmatical,  nor  too  minute  ;  he  is  not  a  partisan  nor  a  carper  :  hr  ail 
mires  without  servility,  he  criticises  without  malevolence;  his  frankness  anil 
good  humor  give  an  agreeable  color  and  effect  to  all  his  decisions,  and  the  object 
of  them  ;  his  book  leaves  a  useful  general  idea  of  the  names,  works,  and  deserts, 
of  the  great  masters:  it  is  an  instructive  and  entertaining  index." — JVat.  Oaz. 

"  We  have  made  a  copious  extract  in  preceding  columns  from  this  interesting 
work  of  our  countryman,  Rembrandt  1'eale,  recently  published.  It  lias  received 
:iigh  commendation  from  respectable  sources,  which  is  justified  by  the  portions 
we  have  seen  extracted." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  Mr.  Pcale  must  be  allowed  the  credit  of  candor  and  entire  freedom  from  affec 
tation  in  the  judgments  he  has  passed.  At  the  same  time,  we  should  not  omit  to 
notice  the  variety,  extent,  and  minuteness  of  his  examinations.  No  church, 
gallery,  or  collection,  was  passed  by,  and  most  of  the  individual  pictures  are 
separately  and  carefully  noticed." — Jim.  Quarterly  Review. 

MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  OP  SIR  WALTER  RALEGH,  with 
some  account  of  the  Period  in  which  he  lived.  By  Mrs.  A.  T. 
THOMSON.  With  a  portrait. 

"Such  is  the  outline  of  a  life,  which,  in  Mrs.  Thomson's  hands,  is  a  mine  of  in 
terest  ;  from  the  first  page  to  the  last  the  attention  is  roused  and  sustained,  and 
while  we  approve  the  manner,  we  still  more  applaud  the  spirit  in  which  it  is 
executed." — Literary  Gazette. 

"  In  all  respects  a  most  appropriate  volume  for  the  Cabinet  Library.  We 
shall  take  an  opportunity  in  another  notice,  to  give  some  of  the  many  interest 
ing  passages  in  the  volume  that  offer  themselves  for  quotation." — JV.  Y.  Jlmcr. 

"  The  book  is  unquestionably  the  best  Life  of  Ralegh  that  has  ever  been 
written." — Jllbum. 

"This  is  a  piece  of  biography  which  combines  the  fascinations  of  romance 
with  the  deeper  interest  that  attaches  to  historical  narrative."— Sout/i.  Patriot 


ELEGANT  LIBRARY  EDITIONS 

OF    THE    FOLLOWING   WORKS. 


WORKS  OF  JOANNA  BA1LLIE.    Complete  in  1  volume  8vo. 

WORKS  OF  HENRY  FIELDING.    In  2  vols.  8m,  with  a  por 
trait. 

WORKS  OF  TOBIAS  SMOLLETT.    In  2  volumes  8vo.,  with 
a  portrait. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  RISE  AND  PROGRESS  OP  THE 
UNITED  STATES  OF  NORTH  AMERICA.  By  JAMES 
GRAHAM.  In  2  vols.  8vo. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


MILITARY  MEMOIRS  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 

By   CAPT.   MOYLE  SHER.ER,   Author   of  Recollections  of  the 

Peninsula.     In  2  vols.  18mo. 

"The  tone  of  feeling  and  reflection  which  pervades  the  work  is  in  the  charac- 
. eristic  mood  of  the  writer,  considerate,  ardent,  and  chivalrous;  his  principles, 
as  might  be  expected,  are  sound  and  independent,  and  his  language  is  frequently 
rich  in  those  beauties  which  distinguish  his  previous  writings.  To  us  it  appears 
a  work  which  will  not  discredit  its  illustrious  subject."—  United  Service  Journal. 

THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  JOANNA 
BAILLIE.  1  vol.  8vo. 

This  edition  corresponds  with  the  Library  Editions  of  Byron,  Scott,  Moore,  &.c. 

"Miss  Baillie's  Plays  on  the  Passions  have  been  long  known  as  among  the 
jest  in  the  language.  No  one  who  reads  them  can  entertain  a  doubt  of  the  char 
acter  of  the  writer's  affections.  Such  works  could  never  have  been  dictated  by 
a  cold  heart." — Christian  Examiner. 

"  We  are  among  the  most  earnest  admirers  of  her  genius,  her  literary  attain 
ments  and  skill,  her  diction,  her  success,  her  moral  designs,  and  her  personal 
worth.  Some  of  her  tragedies  have  deservedly  passed  into  the  stock  of  the  prin 
cipal  British  and  American  theatres.  They  are  express  developments  and  de 
lineations  of  the  passions,  marked  by  a  deep  insight  into  human  nature,  great 
dramatic  power  of  treatment,  a  fertile  spirit  of  poetry,  and  the  loftiest  and 
purest  moral  sentiment." — National  Oazcltc. 

TREATISE  ON  CLOCK  AND  WATCHMAKING,  Theoretical 
and  Practical.  By  THOMAS  REID,  Edinburgh  Honorary  Mem 
ber  of  the  Worshipful  Company  of  Clock-Makers,  London. 
Royal  8vo.  Illustrated  by  numerous  Plates. 

GEOLOGICAL    MANUAL.     By  H.  T.  DE  LA  BECHE.     la  8vo. 

with  numerous  wood-cuts. 

"  A  work  of  first-rate  importance  in  the  science  to  which  it  relates,  and  which 
must  henceforth  take  its  place  in  the  library  of  every  student  in  Geology." — 
Phil.  Magazine. 

"  Mr.  De  la  Beche's  Geological  Manual  is  the  first  and  best  work  of  the  kind 
and  he  has  performed  his  task  with  a  perfect  knowledge  of  all  that  has  been 
ascertained  in  Geology,  and  with  considerable  judgment  and  taste  in  the  man 
ner  of  doing  it.  So  much  geological  science  was  never  before  compressed  in  so 
small  a  space." — Spectator. 

HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  by  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH.  Octavo 
edition. 

***  The  first  volume  of  this  edition  will  contain  the  same  matter  as  the  first 
three  volumes  of  the  18mo.  edition. 

A  COLLECTION  OF  COLLOQUIAL  PHRASES,  on  every 
subject  necessary  to  maintain  Conversation,  the  whole  so  dis 
posed  as  considerably  to  facilitate  the  acquisition  of  the  Italian 
language.  By  an  Italian  Gentleman.  1  vol.  18mo. 

NOVELLE  ITALIANE.— Stories  from  Italian  Writers,  with  a 
literal,  interlinear  translation  on  Locke's  plan  of  Classical 
Instruction,  illustrated  with  Notes.  First  American  from  the 
last  London  edition,  with  additional  translations  and  notes. 


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